The Last Argument of Queens
by Wardown
Summary: This fic begins at Season 8, Episode 5. It diverges somewhat from the (pretty dreadful) final episodes that were inflicted on us. It is not part of The Dragon Awakes Series. Plainly, judging by the number of hits and Favourites, quite a lot of people are enjoying this story (and others I have written). If you wish to leave them, comments are very welcome.
1. Chapter 1

**THE LAST ARGUMENT OF QUEENS**

This is not part of The Dragon Awakes Series.

Ultima Ratio Regum "The Last Argument of Kings " was inscribed on Louis XIV's cannon.

ie War is the Last Argument of Kings (or Queens).

**Chapter 1: Can You Forgive Her? **

"We have lost too many good men", Grey Worm stated baldly. She could see that for herself. Standing a couple of hundred yards outside the city, with Drogon by her side, she watched as a steady flow of wounded soldiers streamed back out of the Old Gate. Some of them collapsed before reaching her lines; she saw one poor man desperately trying to hold his guts inside his stomach, which had been slashed across. "Your Grace, we simply don't have the numbers. The Lannisters have barricaded themselves into the slums and wynds of Flea Bottom. They are as numerous as we are, and are suffering fewer casualties. We are losing this fight."

Her stomach clenched. The past month had been a nightmare. Rhaegal and Missandei were dead, her army had been ambushed at Sea, and Varys had been revealed as a traitor. Yet, the battle had begun so well. She had dived out of the Sun on Drogon, and burned the Iron Fleet at anchor. Then she had burned the city walls systematically, destroying every piece of artillery that was positioned on them. Now she realised that she had underestimated Cersei yet again. The Lannister Queen had no intention of fighting her on the walls. She would fight her in the streets and slums of the city, and to the seven hells with the civilian population. Cersei had out thought her, and her advisors at every stage of this war; she knew of their reluctance to unleash dragon fire on the population. So, she and her soldiers had taken refuge among that population. Doubt gnawed at Daenerys. Lose today, and there was every chance of losing the war. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms would back the winning side, and she had won no victories over Cersei, since the battle of the Goldroad. Jon Snow approached her, looking shattered. His Northmen had entered the city through the Lion Gate. "Give me your report Jon."

"It's bad, your Grace. We're bogged down on the slopes of Visenya's Hill. I brought eight thousand men to this city. I've lost over a thousand, dead or wounded, I reckon. My men are close to breaking. "

"We could lose the war, today, Jon. I have unfinished business with your sisters and brother, but know this. If I go down, Cersei will sweep North, and spike their heads above Winterfell's main gate. I only want their fealty, not their lives. There's only one path to victory that I can see now. Pull your men back to the city walls. You too, Torgo Nudho." She felt sick, knowing what she was about to do.

One hundred yards away, Centenar Robin Hogg stared at the Dragon Queen with undisguised anger. He had no time for her, or for her wish to stamp out the North's freedom. He was here for vengeance, solely and simply. Vengeance for Ned Stark and his murdered retainers, and vengeance for Lady Sansa, abused and nearly raped in this stinking city. And if he got a haul of plunder, and a quick fuck when the city fell, so much the better. He'd marched for weeks from Winterfell, living off hard tack and brackish water. He'd seen his comrades dying all day long, falling to boiling oil and water, arrows, spears, and blinded by quicklime, and still the stupid bitch did nothing. She had a dragon, so why didn't she use the fucking creature? He didn't care how many of the city's inhabitants died, the more the better really. They weren't his people. He took a long draft of ale, readying himself to return to the fight. And then he saw her, mounting the dragon's back, and fastening the chains, as the beast spread its wings. About bloody time! But, he still wouldn't forgive her for his dead men.

Tyrion realised what would happen. Still the Queen's Hand, in theory, he knew that he was under a cloud. The problem was, that he had given Daenerys bad military advice throughout. Not deliberately, of course, but it had turned out disastrously. His attempts to save lives had ended up costing them. But, he had to do something. He ran over to the Queen as she mounted Drogon. "Your Grace, I know what you plan to do. At least, confine your attack to the Red Keep",

"I can't, you know that. Your sister's soldiers are barricaded across the city. For all I know, she's already left the Red Keep. She may be underground. Had I attacked the Red Keep when I landed, all of this would have been avoided. You and Varys talked me out of it."

"Thousands will die, think again."

"Tens of thousands. Blame your sister, not me." The dragon launched itself into the air.

She flew out towards the Blackwater, gradually gaining altitude. Below her, the remains of the Iron Fleet smouldered, with ships half sunk, or floating aimlessly, their crews dead, or having abandoned them. _May the Seven, the Old Gods, and the Lord of Light forgive me for what I am about to do. The people of Kings Landing never will; nor should they. My father wanted to burn the city down. I'm about to do it. But what choice do I have? If I look back I am lost. If this is the price of the Iron Throne, it is bitter indeed. _

As she turned back towards the city, now a couple of hundred feet in the air, she wondered if she should accept defeat, even execution at Cersei's hands, rather than harm the city. But, the Lannister would spend days playing with her, before she died, and would exact cruel revenge on her followers, too. And, I will not go down in history as the Queen who Bent the Knee.

She flew fast over the city walls, the charred remains of artillery scattered on them, and then on towards Flea Bottom. A stray arrow bounced off her breast plate, lacking any force, as she dived. She saw hundreds scattering below her, hearing their terrified screams as she swept towards her target, a row of wooden warehouses, in which the Lannisters had barricaded themselves. "Dracarys" she cried, and fire leapt from the dragon's jaws, engulfing the warehouses in flames. Systematically, she criss-crossed the streets of Flea Bottom, burning houses, shops, stores, septs, and workshops. Most of the buildings were wooden, and went up like kindling. She shut her ears to the screams and cries of the people below, as the district died. A few arrows flew in her direction, but they were no threat. As easy to stop the Blackwater in full flow as to escape the Dragon's justice. Leaving Flea Bottom ablaze behind her, she burned a swathe across the city, as she headed for Visenya's Hill, to destroy the nest of rats that Cersei had placed there.

From the highest tower of the Red Keep, Cersei watched with satisfaction as Flea Bottom burned. She knew that it would come to this eventually. She expected to die today, but she would rob the foreign whore's victory of any sweetness. What was it her brother had said Aerys muttered as her father stormed the city all those years ago? "Let him be king over cooked meat and charred bones." Her sentiments exactly. The world would remember the Dragon Queen as a monster, who completed her father's terrible work. She would spend the rest of her (hopefully short) life looking over her shoulder for the assassin's blade, or fearing that every bite she took was poisoned. Not least, because she had taken care to place stores of Aerys' "fruits", glass balls filled with wildfire, in strategic locations. The whole of the city would be her funeral pyre, and she would leap laughing into the next world, knowing that the population who had mocked her nakedness, when she underwent her walk of shame, had been destroyed. She turned to Qyburn and Clegane. She noticed that her Hand had a rapt expression on his face. "I see this gives you as much pleasure as it gives me. But, come, we must depart." They descended the staircase, which led eventually to the black cells, and the lowest depths of the Palace. Perhaps, they could escape, after all.

_Hell on Earth!_ That's what Jon thought as he looked up from his position of command, at the Lion Gate. A quarter of a mile ahead of him, the streets and buildings of Visenya's Hill were sheets of green and orange flame, reaching hundreds of feet into the sky. Later, he would learn that the Alchemists' Hall had caught fire, before the stores of wildfire beneath it exploded, sending flames racing across the city. Smoke roiled across his sight, and ashes drifted down, remnants of burnt wood and human flesh. He coughed and choked on the reek, eyes smarting. Even from this distance, he could feel the intense heat of fire. His men had withdrawn from the slope, and were stationed in ranks by the city wall. Yohn Royce approached him. "I've seen horrors on the battlefield my Lord, but nothing like this. " A wild keening came from the burning buildings ahead of them, as soldiers and civilians alike died in the firestorm. But, bad as things were, they were about to get a great deal worse. Thousands of people fled down the lower slopes of the hill towards them, outrunning the flames, and seeking safety outside the walls. At least, he could see them to safety. "Let them through ", Jon shouted to the soldiers "Just let them through."

Hogg heard Jon's order, as he rejoined his men. "Fuck that!" he told them. "We're not taking prisoners. We fought the Dead when those bastards sat on their arses. They promised to come to our aid, and then they left us in the lurch. Remember Ned Stark lads. They cheered when the Lannisters cut his head off. They tried to rape Lady Sansa. Show them no mercy!" His men growled their assent. His men were mainly archers. Calmly, they drew their bows and started to shoot into the oncoming crowd. All across the line, archers were joining them, loosing volleys that cut down scores of screaming men, women and children. As the first of the crowd reached them, Hogg drove his axe into the face into the face of a screaming woman, and the Northmen surged forward, drawing swords and axes, and hacking, thrusting, slashing. This was what he'd been waiting for! He roared as he cut them down, his men wading in on either side of him. Even the Lannister soldiers among the fleeing people made no effort to fight back, such was their panic. It was the easiest fight he'd ever had! He leapt out of the way, cursing, as a group of Vale knights spurred their horses into the crowd, riding the people down and hacking them apart with swords, lances, and axes. Hogg glanced down at his padded jack. It was drenched with the blood of his enemies, and he keened hysterically. These were sheep, not humans! They broke right and left before him, and he saw dozens of them running down a side alley, as yet untouched by the fire. "After them, lads" he cried. Some of the fleeing people took refuge in a small Sept. The Septon bravely barred his way, shouting "There are women and children in this Sept! They are under the protection of the Seven" . "Not my religion" yelled Hogg, as he drove his dirk into the man's mouth, and out the back of his head. Two of his men hacked down the Sept's doors with axes, and then they burst in. After they had taken their pleasure, Hogg and his men would leave no one alive.

"Kill them all, the Gods will look after their own!" cried Sweetrobin triumphantly, as he charged the crowd at the head of his Knights. He had ignored Yohn Royce's furious call to halt, because fuck him! He was Lord of the Vale, not Royce. Royce might be in command of the Vale's army but he was only his Bannerman, when all was said and done. Gods, this was war as he had always dreamed it would be, charging a broken enemy that cowered and fled before him. He imagined his minstrels singing of his exploits;

_"Robyn, mighty son of Arryn, rode forth, and his thoughts were red thoughts. Bright was his sword, and great his spear's slaughter. His enemies fell like chaff, before Robyn Arryn the Valiant!" _

He and his men skirted Visenya's Hill, which was impassable due to the burning, and drove the crowd North East up River Row, towards Fishmongers Square. There was just no pleasure like taking the lives of his enemies. Even fucking didn't compare. He felt like a god, as he picked his victims in turn and drove his horse through the press of panicked people, slaying them in succession. He saw a man and woman running hand in hand, and spurred forward with his paladins. With a swift stroke of his longsword, he took the man's head, before removing hers' with the backstroke. His Master at Arms would have been proud of those strokes, timed to perfection, and delivered with deadly accuracy. "Well played, my lord, well played," cried his squire, Iain Waynwood. He grinned in acknowledgement. And then he saw her, among the crowd! A wench of heart-stopping beauty, with silver hair, and a figure to die for. She rather resembled the Dragon Queen in fact. On more than one occasion, in fact, he'd tried to seduce Daenerys, but she'd always rebuffed him coldly. It occurred to him that she might favour pretty girls, like that gorgeous scribe of hers. Some women did, and it would explain why she was so cut up at her murder. "I want that one, don't kill her! " he yelled to his knights. Whooping with triumph, he grabbed the woman by her hair, and hauled her up over his horse's neck like a reaver of old, ignoring her screams. He called a halt, dismounted, and dragged the woman into an abandoned workshop, while his Squire stood guard. The woman fought back, which added spice to the whole affair, but a slap from his mailed gauntlet was enough to send her sprawling. He climbed on top of her, only to be hauled up by the scruff of his neck, finding himself staring into the livid face of Jon Snow. Jon dealt a shattering blow with his gauntlet, breaking Sweetrobin's nose, and several teeth, instantly. He screamed, as Jon kicked him massively in the crotch. He cowered away, convinced that Jon meant to kill him on the spot. As Jon mastered himself, he spat with fury "I'll have your head for this, Bastard!" Jon dealt him another savage kick, before snarling "Take it up with Queen, coward!" and stalking out of the room, holding the woman by her hand. He sobbed with agony, as he clutched himself between his legs. He'd kill that filthy bastard when he had the chance!

The Lannisters were broken. She was sure of that. She saw the centre of the city burn beneath her, as she flew towards the Red Keep. Again and again, green fires exploded, as caches of wildfire ignited. Another crime to lay at the feet of Cersei. Had Tyrion known about the wildfire, and kept the knowledge from her? Time to cut the head off the snake, and end this war for good. She flew over the walls of the Red Keep, seeing the Great Hall and the Maidenvault, below her. But those were not her targets. She circled Maegor's Holdfast, withering the building with flame, until its stones glowed red hot, and shattered and fell. May the Gods forgive her, but some part of her was enjoying this! All the frustrations and bitterness of her months in this wretched country, dealing with people who would use her while wishing her dead, would now be washed away. With blows from his tail, Drogon sent tons of stone cascading to the ground. His flames had set the floors and joists of the holdfast ablaze, so the whole building burned like a candle.

Cersei was trapped. This was the end. Descending the staircase, they had confronted the Hound, who had somehow slipped through the inferno, to seek vengeance on his brother. The creature had destroyed Qyburn in fury, and she had left them to it. She had run as long as she could, through the passages and staircases of the burning holdfast. But, the passageway through which she had come was blocked at the other end. Behind her, flames prevented her retreat. So be it. All her life, she had been a lioness, showing greater courage than any man. She had wreaked revenge on so many of her enemies, King Robert, Ellaria Sand, the whore of Highgarden and her unspeakable grandmother, the High Sparrow and all his little sparrows, even her treacherous uncle, and now the people of this stinking city. A pity that she had never finished off the Imp, and that Jaime was not here to die with her, but still, she had accomplished so much. _Die like a lioness was her final thought_, as the flames embraced her.

Grey Worm saw that the enemy were beaten. They had perished mostly when the Queen burned Flea Bottom, and Visenya's Hill, and the shocked survivors had no fight left in them. There was no need for further killing, and every need to get the population out of the burning city. The rest of the army was running amok, but at least he had the Unsullied in hand, five thousand of them. The burning had been brutal, but he knew very well that the Queen had no desire for unnecessary killing. He had led his men through the streets North of Rhaenys' Hill and then due East. Half his men had been left under his Deputy, Brown Flea to take the Red Keep, while he took the other half down Muddy Way and The Hook, until they had reached Fishmongers' Square. This part of the city was as yet untouched by the fire. He had quickly seized the River Gate, and ordered his men to evacuate the crowds through it. Thousands of people were fleeing from the West and South of the city, and poured through the gate, into the suburbs between the Walls and the Blackwater, either intending to cross the River, or flee South. One of his lieutenants, Blue Rat, had told him that disgracefully, men were charging extortionate sums to transport people across the Blackwater by boat, but there was nothing he could do about that for the moment. Saving lives was now the priority. Behind the crowds fleeing up River Row, he saw cavalry, riding them down and killing them. He deployed hundreds of men at the South of the Square, with spears levelled. The cavalry could ride no further. One of them leapt down, evidently furious. He recognised Sweetrobin, his face covered in blood and badly bruised, he was glad to note. It also looked as if someone had just broken the bastard's nose for him. Sweetrobin strode over, evidently furious.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" his speech sounded slurred, probably due to broken teeth.

"Stopping you from massacring civilians, you cretin."

"By whose authority?"

"By the authority of the Queen. You forget that I outrank you. Now dismount your men, and join me in evacuating people through the River Gate. Or, if you prefer to disobey me, I'll hang you in public, for mutiny."

"You wouldn't dare!" he snarled.

"Would. Not. Dare. You'd have to be a very brave young man to stake your life on what I would or would not dare. Are you that brave?"

Sweetrobin glared at him, but, like most bullies, he was a coward at heart. With bad grace, he ordered his men to dismount, and to place themselves under Grey Worm's command.

Jon felt nothing but shame. The men he thought he had commanded had simply turned into a rabble of murderers. He had maybe five hundred of them still in hand, as he and Ser Davos Seaworth approached the Red Keep. The rest were murdering, robbing, and raping their way across the city. He and Ser Davos had done what they could to prevent atrocities, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough, he knew that. He saw that the gate to the Red Keep was in the hands of the Unsullied. Brown Rat approached and saluted him.

"My lord, there was no fight left in the defenders. They surrendered as soon as we approached. "

Jon nodded wearily, and replied "Keep them under guard. See that they come to no harm. And the Queen?"

"Is inside". He trudged on, through the gate. Maegor's Holdfast was ablaze now, but the rest of the palace was largely untouched.

He climbed the Serpentine Steps, and entered the Great Hall, largely undamaged. She was where he expected to find her. She sat in shadow, on the lowest step of the Iron Throne, her head in her hands. She looked up as he approached, face streaked with soot, and eyes red-rimmed. She spoke in a strange monotone.

"I used to think my enemies were just insulting me, when they called me a Monster, an Abomination, The Mad Queen. Now, I realise that every word of it was the plain truth. I'm worse than they ever claimed. I just killed a city."

"You had no choice" he replied. "You know how close we were to defeat".

"I had no choice? Isn't that the old excuse of evil justifying itself throughout the ages? There's always a choice. Do you think I should be put on trial for what happened today?"

"If you have to stand trial, then so must I. So must almost every lord and commander in this army. You can't undo the past. You hate what happened today. That alone makes you better than Cersei."

"Better than Cersei? That's not a very high standard, is it?"

"It's a start." He held her tight, as she sobbed in his arms.

**Notes:**

1\. I've tried to come up with a more plausible reason for the Sack and burning of Kings Landing than the show gave us. So far, the explanations seem to be either that Daenerys was always evil, as evidenced by her "cold" reaction to her brother's death, or else she just went mad at this point. Both explanations insult the viewers' intelligence. Note that I am not whitewashing Daenerys in this fic. She does know that she is going to kill tens of thousands of civilians, and goes ahead anyway. But, she feels she has no option.

2\. I have pulled my punches somewhat. I have not described rape or murder in any explicit detail. But, I did want to give an idea of just how hard it would be to restrain an army from sacking a city that offered resistance. Daenerys' forces and the Northmen and Valemen would be full of pent-up anger towards the population of Kings Landing, after months of fighting. And generally speaking, in real life, the fiercer the resistance, the more savage the Sack that followed when a city fell.

3\. Notwithstanding the murder of Missandei, I thought the show did Grey Worm a great disservice by making him the perpetrator of a massacre. I think he and the Unsullied would maintain their discipline and be trying to save lives, once the battle was obviously won.

4\. In this fic, Arya and Ser Jaime remained at Winterfell. Sweetrobin is fighting with the Vale Men, despite Bronze Yohn being their commander.

5\. Jon and Daenerys are not passionate lovers in this. They are however, fond of each other, and realise that they need each other politically, and there is a sexual side to their relationship. The parallels would be with Queen Isabella and Roger Mortimer, and the later years of the relationship between Catherine the Great and Potemkin.


	2. The Fruits of Victory

**The Fruits of Victory **

"Do your sisters want me dead?" she asked Jon. He tensed, as he lay in bed with her, two nights after the city fell. They had taken chambers in the Maidenvault. Rain lashed the roof and windows, a blessing in a city where fires still smouldered, Perhaps half of Kings Landing lay in ruins, along with Maegor's Holdfast, but the rest could be salvaged. "I have to know."

"No. They have never said that, nor have they have ever implied it"

"Why reveal the truth of your parentage, against your wishes, except to sow chaos between me and my advisors? I didn't know it at the time, but I have learned that Varys attempted to poison me. Do you think Sansa was party to this plot?"

He turned to face her. "Sansa does hate. She does bear grudges. Ask Ramsay Bolton or Littlefinger. But, she does not hate you. She distrusts you. There's a difference. She distrusts everyone, except her immediately family, because she's been so often betrayed. You ask why she revealed my parentage to Tyrion. There's no easy way to put this, Daenerys. She was worried that you would kill me, rather than let the truth emerge."

She gave a sharp intake of breath, and remained silent for a long time. Then, "I knew people would move against me, once it was revealed, but I think there's nothing to be gained any longer, by hiding the truth. Suppose I were to nominate you as my legal heir, make you Prince of Dragonstone?"

"Then you would be one unpopular decision or bad harvest away from people saying that I would make the better ruler. I would be your overmighty subject."

"You know that I cannot have children, unless someone can reverse a witch's curse. Otherwise, I'd suggest we get married. That would solve any dynastic dispute, but our House would die with us. I know the risks as well as you do, but even if you remained a private citizen, there would still be those plotting to make you King, or raising rebellions in your name. This way, you or your heirs will sit the Iron Throne, and our House will endure."

"If I die without any children, Sansa will be my heir."

"Never Sansa!" she snapped. " I can't make her third in line for the Crown. She'd certainly move against me, then!"

"You misjudge her, Daenerys"

"Do I? I've rarely been more frightened than I was at Winterfell. You said the Northmen distrusted strangers. They hated me from the outset. They loathed Missandei and Grey Worm, merely because they were a different colour. They despised my soldiers, who had come to fight for them. I've half a mind to give the Northmen their fucking independence, and see how they fare, without food or military support from the South. You know what I feared, up there, more than anything? Not the Dead. Oh no. Rather, that I'd get a sword or an arrow in the back, when I fought them."

Jon felt a wave of disgust, as he remembered. "Daenerys" he said gently. " I can't begin to defend the way they treated you. But, that wasn't Sansa's doing. They were just as vicious towards her and me. Half of them fought for Ramsay Bolton. They are selfish and treacherous. And remember, the Free Folk admire you. They know what you saved them from."

She remained silent again for a while, before speaking again "I've had more than my fair share of good fortune. Even with a dragon, I'm one lucky shot away from death. I've lost count of the number of times people have tried to murder me. Sooner or later, someone will succeed. I don't want to think that everything I did was a waste. Do this for me?

"I will. But, if you exclude Sansa from the succession, she'll think you intend to eliminate her. It's safer to keep her in line."

Later that morning, he joined Daenerys in the Small Council chamber, as she outlined her plans for the future. Present were Grey Worm, Brown Flea, Tyrion, Sweetrobin (still darting him poisonous glares), Yohn Royce, as well as several other lords of the North and the Vale, some prominent merchants, and a couple of leaders of the Dothraki. And Sarella Sand, who had arrived that day with a contingent of Dornish soldiers, too late for the fight, but representing Dorne's new Prince, Quentyn Martell.

She began. "Some of you will be aware that Jon Snow is not the natural son of Ned Stark, but rather, the son of my brother Rhaegar, and Lyanna Stark. My brother purported to dissolve his marriage to Princess Elia of Dorne, a fact which she was unaware of, before marrying Lyanna. I am no legal scholar, but there must be grave doubts over the validity of such a marriage. Nonetheless, I shall be issuing a decree to legitimise Lord Snow, and to acknowledge him as Prince of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne.

"Several of those present murmured with surprise, but no one disputed the decision. "Prince Jon will serve as my Hand. Lord Tyrion, I thank you for your services, but I believe you deserve a rest from your labours. The lands of House Lannister are forfeit to the Crown. I shall grant you Casterly Rock, but the revenues of Lannisport shall remain vested in the Crown, and shall pay for the rebuilding of this city."

"I thank your Grace" replied Tyrion. Yet, he did not look happy. _Whatever honours he is given, it is still a dismissal after all. _

The false Queen Cersei Lannister has not been found. I presume she perished in the city's fall, but should she be found alive, she shall be tried, and executed with the sword." There was general approval.

Ser Jaime Lannister murdered my father. However, I spared him at Winterfell, and I shall grant him a full pardon in return for his service against the Army of the Dead. He will not, however, serve as Lord Commander of my Queensguard. Grey Worm, will you do the honour of serving as Lord Commander and as Master of War?"

"With pleasure, your Grace."

"Lord Royce. you and Grey Worm have striven manfully to restore order in this city. Will you serve as Master of Laws and Lord Commander of the City Watch?"

"Of course, your Grace".

"Turning to the laws of this country. The false Queen was foolish enough to allow religious fanatics to govern this realm. They forebade the worship of other gods, and made it a crime for men to lie with whores or other men. Those laws are repealed forthwith. My subjects are free to worship as they please and to couple with whom they choose. I have far more pressing concerns than these." Sarella Sand slapped the table with approval.

"I imagine the Faith will have something to say about that!" sneered Sweetrobin.

"The Faith can say what it pleases. They will enjoy all the rights and privileges that they enjoyed in my father's reign, but no more. "

My great-grandfather, King Aegon, tried to improve the lot of the Smallfolk across the Realm. He failed, due to opposition from the lords. I will now implement his reforms." Now, this is where things were getting interesting. He had of course, discussed these proposals with her, over the past couple of days, but they were, to say the least, ambitious.

"Across the Seven Kingdoms, lords are free to act as judge, jury, and executioner, over the Smallfolk, as they please. Some lords will hang a man for stealing a lamb. Other lords will merely fine him, or remove a finger. That ends, now. There will be but three capital crimes, namely murder, treason, and enslavement. Any man who is sentenced to death by his lord, will have the right to appeal to judges appointed by the Crown. " Silence. Then muttering. "An outrage, " murmured one of the Vale Lords, Arryn of Gulltown. Sweetrobin looked furious.

"There is more. At the moment, any lord is free to turn a family off their land at will. I will enact a law that no tenant may be thrown off their land, so long as they pay their rents and perform any agreed labour service. Widows will automatically inherit their husband's tenancies, and children their parents'. Tenants who carry out improvements to their land will be compensated by their lords. Lords who seize common land will be fined. Men who are injured in the course of military service will be compensated by their lords. If they are killed, then that compensation will be paid to their families. If a member of a guild dies, leaving a widow, she will be entitled to take his place. I shall require the Great Houses to purchase stocks of meat, salt, and grain, which will be released on to the market at prices set by the Crown, in times of famine. It is a disgrace that some lords should think to profit when their people starve. It will be the responsibility of royal judges to enforce these laws. "

Jon saw that some of those present were puce with shock. Others red with anger. As usual, Sweetrobin spoke up:-

"I've just fought valiantly to rid this country of a tyrant, not to place another on the Iron Throne!"

Before Daenerys could respond, Jon leapt in: "The less said about your war record, my Lord, the better. There is no tyranny in these laws. Only in those who would find fault with them." _Go on my lord, issue a challenge. I'll take pleasure in hacking you apart. _

For a moment, he thought Sweetrobin would be that stupid. But, the man was not entirely dead to common sense. He looked like he had swallowed a wasp, but kept silent.

"Your Grace" commented Yohn Royce "In principle, I agree with these laws. Far too many of my own class view the Smallfolk as cattle. Yet, where would we be without the rents they pay, the taxes they generate, without their service in our castles and our armies? Any lord who has the wits the Gods gave a flea should understand that when the Smallfolk prosper, we prosper. But, I worry about the lords' reaction to these changes. I would suggest we proceed slowly. Introduce the laws one by one, allow people to get used to them.""

"I respectfully disagree, my lord" commented Sarella Sand. "I believe these are all excellent proposals. Some of these laws are already in place in Dorne, the rest, I know Prince Quentyn will be happy to implement. I studied politics at the Citadel. I say, when changes are necessary, you bring them in at once!"

"I concur with Lord Royce" commented Tyrion. "The lords will see it as an attack on their liberties".

"Enough" snapped the Queen. "Any lord who resists these changes can answer to Drogon!" . Stunned silence. She got up to depart, leaving the assembled worthies to digest her words.

**Notes:**

1\. One of the many things I disliked about Season 8 was the way that the show runners gaslit Daenerys, by portraying her very reasonable fears of betrayal as a sign that she was cracking up.

With the benefit of hindsight, one can see that D & D were vilifying Daenerys, from an early stage, as compared to her portrayal in the books.

They removed a good deal of her warmth, humour, and humanity, and turned her into a kind of icon, before tearing her down in the last three episodes. Importantly, in the books, it's generally her advisors, like Shahaz, Jorah, and Daario, who urge her to be more cruel and ruthless, while she favours restraint. The reverse is true in the series (although, the advice she is given in the series is often stupid). An incident like comforting Doreah as she died was replaced by her executing Doreah. Her helping refugees was cut out of the series, as was her forgiving an envoy for spitting in her face. In the books, she grieved for her brother, but not in the Show. The execution of Mossador was a show-only event. In the books, there was no indication that any Great Master opposed the crucifixion of slave children, nor did any advisor object to the execution of the Great Masters.

2\. One of Aegon V's motives for trying to hatch dragon eggs, was to give himself the power to enforce his reforms in the face of lordly opposition.


	3. The Wolves Den

**The Wolves' Den **

Sansa was in an excellent mood as she relaxed at the Starks' hunting lodge , the Wolves' Den, which lay about fifteen miles from Winterfell in the Wolfswood. It was comfortably appointed, filled with roaring log fires and leather armchairs and setteees, and stocked with fine foods and wine. Best of all, it afforded a level of privacy which was simply out of the question at Winterfell. She sat open-legged on a chaise-longe in her chambers, sipping a glass of arbour gold, eyes closed in ecstasy . She wore nothing but a pair of knee length riding boots, while her young squire's head was buried between her thighs, his tongue ministering to the needs of the Lady of Winterfell. In recent weeks, she had become extremely fond of hunting; and of her gorgeous young squire, Beric Flint. Her peace was disturbed by a frantic hammering at the door. "My lady, my lady, it's urgent!" shouted Jeyne Poole, her companion, on the other side. Her eyes flew open, even as she approached her climax. "I'm, I'm working on my accounts!" she yelled. She heard a snigger on the other side of the door, her infernal sister, no doubt. "Give me a moment" she cried, as she clutched Beric's head to her with her left hand, and ground against him. To her horror, the door knob turned, but thank the Gods, she had remembered to turn the key in the lock! After the moment of crisis had passed, she jumped up, and flung on her hunting gear, which was strewn across the floor. She remembered to open her accounts book, which lay on her desk, and went to the door. Beric dutifully sat in an armchair, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth..

She opened the door, to be greeted by a grinning Arya, and a horrified Jeyne. "She did it, she really did it!" shrieked Jeyne. "She burned Kings Landing, and murdered the population! She'll be flying North to burn us, too!" Sansa turned to Arya, "What's this all about?"

"You'd better read this. It's a long letter from Jon. Prince Jon, I suppose I must now call him. It came by courier today. "

"Come in, and sit down." She picked up the scroll, and read it in silence, occasionally exclaiming in shock. "It seems, I'm third in line for the Iron Throne, now", she said, in astonishment. Oh Gods, is this some kind of trap?

"Congratulations, your highness" and Arya gave her a mock curtsey. "I suppose that makes me fourth in line."

"She did burn the city," mused Sansa, "But, it's not what you think, Jeyne. Jon is clear, the army was on the point of defeat. If they'd lost, Cersei would have marched North, and killed us all. But that's not all, not by a long way. He says our men went berserk, and...… they did it for us, they say. They wanted to avenge father's death, and the deaths of his men, and...….the things that happened to me at Kings Landing. Oh Gods, it was hideous! These are good men, Arya. Men who fought the Boltons and the Dead, and they did terrible things to the inhabitants."

"War is war, my lady, " commented Beric, gently. "When a city resists, no one can stop it from being sacked. They should have surrendered at the beginning. Omelettes and eggs, I'm afraid. May I read it?" Sansa passed him the scroll. He frowned as he read it. Then, "She really is the Mad Queen, isn't she?"

"What do you mean?" asked Sansa.

"These laws she's proposed. She wants to destroy the nobility. I can assure you, the nobility will destroy her first. She's a tyrant, just as we suspected. My lady, if you were Queen, would you even think of such things?"

"I'm not the Queen, Beric. Even to talk of such a thing is treason."

"Just who in the Seven hells does she think she is?" snarled Beric. "Telling us how we must treat our tenants, and appointing judges over us. Before long, the Smallfolk will start thinking they're our equals."

"And, who says they aren't?" demanded Arya. " I killed the Night's King, but do you really think any of us would have survived if the Smallfolk hadn't fought the Dead. They fight and die for us, and we treat them like shit in return. Years ago, I made friends with a butcher's boy, Mycah. All he did was to protect me from Joffrey, the monster, and he was slaughtered like a pig. And no one cared. When I was on the run, I saw tavern girls being hanged for sport, and peasants turned out of their hovels to starve. My own grandfather burned a village and slaughtered its inhabitants, because its Lord defied him. You can't treat men and women like animals, and think you can get away with it forever!"

"Arya, Mother and Father were never unkind to the Smallfolk. I hope you don't think I'm unkind to them" Sansa commented softly.

"You aren't. But you can't be everywhere.

Beric, Jeyne, would you please give us a moment?" They left the room. "You think you know someone well, and then they show what they're really like, and it's not a pleasant sight."

"Huh, just because he can tongue a quim, that doesn't make him a good person."

"Arya, please!"

"Oh, Sansa, he goes round bragging about it. And about the things you do in return. I'm not judging you, but he's an arse. Is it true you let him finish in your mouth?"

"Certainly not!"

"So, he's a liar as well, then."

" It seems that I'll need a new squire. I'm sure there's a holdfast somewhere in Skagos that needs a garrison commander."

Sansa remained lost in thought for a while. Then, "I hate his views, but I bet most of our vassals will agree with him. We've got enough trouble with them as it is. "

"If these new laws are good enough for Jon, they're good enough for me. Maybe I misjudged her, when she came to Winterfell."

"Perhaps I did too. But she was proud and arrogant, I thought. She did make threats. I was worried for Jon. But, it does seem that a Stark will sit the Iron Throne, one day. And, a Stark would give us independence. Or at any rate, prioritise the North's interests."

"Did you want Jon to overthrow her? Is that why you told Tyrion? Jon says in this letter that Varys tried to murder her, the moment he found out. Apparently, they discovered Widows Blood among his possessions. I found out how that poison works in the House of Black and White. It's one of the most disgusting deaths you can inflict on someone. He had something very personal to say. Tell me you had nothing to do with that!"

"I swear it, Arya! I played no part in trying to have her poisoned. Ideally, I wanted her to stand aside for Jon, or at any rate, share power with him. And, she has shared power with him."

An hour later, Beric Flint rode away from the Wolves Den in a fit of fury. He had been summoned in to meet his lover, who had told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him, and ordered him never again to set foot within a hundred miles of Winterfell. Well, he would not be treated like that, not by Sansa Stark, nor by the Dragon Queen, who was treating his family and their peers like dogs. If he ever got the chance, he'd string them up, side by side.


	4. The Queen's Justice

**Warning: The chapter describes a crucifixion.**

The condemned man was led in chains, into Fishmongers Square at Dawn. He was clad in rags. A Septon accompanied him, offering him the chance to unburden his conscience for the last time. The morning mist was just starting to lift, but a thin drizzle was trickling down, in keeping with the sombre nature of the proceedings.

Yohn Royce had been waiting here for at least two hours. As Master of Laws, he had tried the man and found him guilty. It also fell to him to carry out the sentence that the Queen's new laws prescribed. As always, he had planned the occasion meticulously. He had discussed the proceedings at length with the executioner, Maltravers, and with those of his Gold Cloaks who would be attending; those with the strongest stomachs. A large crowd had already gathered in the Square ; canny tradesmen had rented out upstairs rooms to the quality, and were supplying them with hearty breakfasts; street vendors were doing a brisk trade, selling bread and olives, sausages on skewers, roasted chestnuts, apples and oranges, and mugs of ale to the smallfolk and wine to the middling sort in the Square. Jugglers and mummers were performing their tricks, in the hope that the crowd would reward them. He noticed with distaste that many of the onlookers had brought their children with them, hoisting them onto their shoulders in order to gain a better view. The crowd was in a jolly mood, the novelty of what was about to happen appealing to their sense of humour. At least it would cheer them up, following the burning of half the city. Though to be fair, the Queen and Small Council had worked wonders, building shelters for the population, or rehousing them in neighbouring towns, and ensuring ample food supplies. Three months on the from the fall of the city, the place was a huge building site.

Not for the first time, he wondered about the woman he served. She was brilliant, brave, compassionate, yet possessed a streak of cold-blooded, self-righteous cruelty that would lead her to order something like this. _I never want to know what you got up to the in East, before you came to Westeros. _He gritted his teeth. Best to get it over with, as soon as possible.

The Septon had ceased praying with the condemned man. As Royce was about to pronounce sentence, he was interrupted as a company of Unsullied marched into the Square. In their midst, he saw the Queen, clad in a black and silver cloak, along with Prince Jon, and several other notables. Without having to be told, the crowd knelt before her. If anyone blamed her for the burning, they were keeping very quiet about it. Royce stepped forward to greet her, bowing. The convict cried out "Mercy, your Grace. Have mercy on a poor wretch! I'm innocent, my enemies have lied about me! " The Queen stared at him coldly for several moments, and then turned to Royce . "My Lord , are you entirely satisfied that this man is guilty?" "

"Entirely, your Grace. The evidence against the man was overwhelming. Several of his victims testified against him, as did some of his employees. He was given ample opportunity to defend himself."

"Those who gave evidence against him? Are you certain they had no reason to lie about him, that they were not bribed or threatened?"

"Yes, your Grace. The investigation was meticulous."

"Then I see no reason why the sentence should not be carried out as the law dictates." He gulped. He had witnessed many grim sights, but this would be among the worst. He noted that the Queen beckoned for a servant to bring her a cup of hippocras, and a couple of pastries. How could she have the stomach for it?

He took a deep breath, and stepped forward. "Master Mott, you have been found guilty of the crime of the enslavement and sale of men, women, and children. The punishment prescribed by the laws of her Grace, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, is that you be crucified in public, until such time as you are dead. If you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out, then speak now." With that, a great roar went up from the crowd, completely drowning out the cries for mercy of the gibbering wretch before him. The man was felled by a guard, as four Gold Cloaks carried an eight foot high cross to the centre of the square, where a hole had been dug to accommodate it. Maltravers approached with a broad grin on his face, flanked by his mates one holding a hammer, the other a bag filled with long nails. _That man enjoys his work far too much. He'll have to go._ He remembered how Maltravers' face lit up, as he explained to him the nature of the sentence that he would be carrying out. The executioners' mates unchained the criminal, dragging him over to the cross, which had now been laid flat on the ground. Such was the man's frenzied strength that he actually broke free, and leapt up, as if to make a run for it, but a swift blow to the head from a Gold Cloak's truncheon stunned him, knocking him down again. This time, the assistants dragged him down, and held his right wrist to the branch. Maltravers held a nail in place, above the man's wrist, with his left hand, and raised the hammer with a flourish with his right. Then he swung the hammer down, again and again. "One, two, three, four!" shouted the crowd, in time to the blows. A second nail was swiftly hammered through the man's forearm, pinning him down. The man screamed, a high-pitched keening sound that carried across the Square. After that, it was easier to nail the rest of the man's limbs in place. The Gold Cloaks then raised the cross into its position, and stepped back, allowing the crowd to gaze on the shrieking victim. A few of the more drunken onlookers raised their mugs to him, toasting him as the rest of the crowd laughed. Some of them started to pelt the man with rotten fruit, dung, and offal, which the Gold Cloaks tolerated, so long as no hard objects were thrown. The crowd cheered at every direct hit.

It's as well he hadn't eaten this morning. He glanced over at the Queen, standing close by, who was quite impassive, having finished her breakfast, and Prince Jon, who looked somewhat unhappy. He overheared her speaking to Jon. "I take it you don't approve. "

"I think this spectacle is sickening. Look at the crowd, they love it. This isn't setting an example, it's simply a sport for them. Do you think they even care if he's guilty or not?"

"Perhaps not. But this man sold men, women, and children into slavery. His suffering is nothing, compared to theirs. I promise you, if you had marched up the coast road to Meereen, and seen children nailed to posts with their guts hanging out, or spoken to boys and girls who'd been raped nightly by their owners, or men who were forced to fight for sport, you'd feel as I do. Jon, one day, you or your children will be ruling in my place. How many times have I told you, sometimes rulers must tread dark paths?"

"There are some paths I have no intention of treading. Why do this? He deserves to die, but we can still kill him in a dignified manner."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she looked up at Royce. "My lord, it seems I am undignified. Very well, I will show him mercy. Make sure you cut his throat, within the hour." Without another word, she turned and headed back to the Red Keep, surrounded by her guards.

**Notes:**

It took the government about a month to rehouse the population of London, after 90% of the city burned in 1666, so it would be quite feasible for Daenerys to have rehoused the population within three months.


	5. Hear Me Roar

Tyrion Lannister was a discontented man. Once upon a time, he had dreamed of being the Lord of Casterly Rock. Having achieved his lifetime's ambition, it tasted like ashes in his mouth. For one thing, the loss of the revenues of Lannisport had hit him hard. Yes, he still possessed tens of thousands of acres, but Lannisport was a gold mine. It should be his, but it remained vested in the Crown. And that was another bone of contention. Like most great lords, his father had had few qualms about seizing common land. No one dared gainsay him. Sooner or later, the royal notaries would be descending on Casterly Rock to investigate this matter, and would no doubt order restitution to the Smallfolk, upon pain of heavy fines. He couldn't actually claim they were wrong to do so, but it would still hurt. Really, though, what hurt most of all, was his exclusion from the centre of power. He really had enjoyed sitting on the Small Council, but the Queen had made it clear, politely but firmly, that she would never require his services again. He realised, he was not made to live in the countryside. And, it didn't help that most of his Bannermen despised him as a parricide. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering whether he'd backed the wrong horse, in Daenerys. Not that he'd had much choice, after being spirited out of Kings Landing and taken East. Sooner or later, she'd have to return to the East, and maybe that would give him the chance to get back into the thick of things. Or perhaps, she could be removed more permanently from the scene.

As soon as he had discovered the truth about Jon's parentage, he had shared that information with Varys. That was only proper, as the Master of Whisperers required that information. However, Varys had taken it as an excuse to plot against the Queen, and had urged him to assist with his plans to murder her. He had demurred. He had still thought himself in favour with her. In any case, there was every risk that her death would sabotage the war effort against Cersei. Yes, the Spider had been a master poisoner, and had no doubt intended the Queen's death to appear natural, but there was still a risk that Grey Worm and Jon would smell a rat. They would have lost the use of Drogon, and her soldiers might have refused to fight. If only the eunuch had waited until Kings Landing had been taken! He was a man of devilish sublety, yet somehow, he had lost his touch in the last weeks of his life. In the end, it had been safer to inform the Queen of Varys's plots, which had resulted in the man's execution. For the hundredth time, he wondered what had caused Varys to turn against the Queen. Not the execution of the Tarlys, as the man had claimed. The Tarlys were traitors through and through, and if anything, the Queen had been absurdly lenient to offer them mercy. Perhaps it was just in the man's nature, like that of Ser Larys Strong, to plot against any ruler he served.

None of that mattered, at this point. The Queen had to go. Why had it taken him so long to see it? Never mind, what mattered was how? The Queen's land reforms were certainly stirring up a hornet's nest among his own Bannermen, and he suspected the same was true elsewhere. Not all of the landlords were opposed, by any means, but a large number were, probably the majority in fact. That was promising. Sweetrobin had made his outrage plain. Gendry Baratheon and the Prince of Dorne would support the Queen. Edmure Tully was just the kind of soft-hearted fool, who would welcome the changes. Sansa Stark? They had parted on cordial terms, and he knew she had no love for the Queen. But, the Starks were known to be generous landlords. No, he suspected that opposition would be concentrated slightly further down the social scale, among the lords and knights and gentry who were sworn to the Great Houses. They were the ones most likely to be feeling the pinch. He would need to sound them out with care. Would his brother help him? He doubted it. After receiving his pardon, he had surprised everyone by wedding Brienne of Tarth. The Queen had even made them a wedding gift of a beautifully-appointed manse in Lannisport. _How good of her to be so generous with other peoples' property!_

Brienne was honourable to a fault. She would probably gut him if he approached Jaime, and suggested that they move against the Queen! No, that was out of the question. He racked his brains, and then he thought of Hogg. The man had committed appalling crimes during the Sack of Kings Landing, and Prince Jon had dismissed him from service. He had found him cursing his bad fortune, in a brothel in the city. He had plied him with ale, and during the course of evening, had peered inside the man's soul, and found it black as pitch. He had realised that the man could be as useful as Bronn had once been, and he had hired him, along with several of his men. (He winced, as he remembered how the Queen had laughed in his face when he told her he'd promised Highgarden to Bronn, and instead, she had bestowed it on a cousin of the Tyrells). He poured himself a large goblet of wine, and waddled off to find Hogg.

He found him gambling in one of the armouries, and drew him aside. "

"I require your assistance."

"I live to serve, my lord."

"Have you heard of the land reforms that the Queen wants to carry out."

"Vaguely my lord. But, I'm a soldier, not a farmer. They mean nothing to me".

"They're making a lot of the highborn very unhappy."

"I suppose they would. Do they make you unhappy?"

"They make my vassals unhappy. I think there could be advantage in stirring the pot. The Smallfolk will be full of hope. Some of them might even start to anticipate the Queen. They might want to seize back lands that their lords have taken. They might even want to punish those lords who have been especially cruel to them. They might think the Queen is on their side. They might even do these things in her name."

"I catch your drift my lord. You want me to stir some of the Smallfolk up, maybe gut a lord or two, all in the name of the Queen. "

"You are a clever man Hogg. You understand, that if you are caught, I shall deny any knowledge of this. But, I shall see you well-rewarded. This for a start. A Lannister always pays his debts after all." He handed him a substantial bag full of gold coins. "There's no hurry. Let me find out which of my vassals are especially disliked by their tenants. Which of them would not be missed. But, whose deaths would frighten other lords. Try and find a radical Septon or two, who will preach sedition against the lords. "

"Consider it done, my lord. I'll take care. I'll recruit a few vicious bastards, as well, who won't shrink from doing what's needed."

"We're two of a kind Hogg."

"I agree my lord. A pair of selfish bastards." Tyrion grinned in acknowledgement.

**Notes:**

1\. Ser Larys Strong was Master of Whisperers under Viserys I, Aegon II, and Rhaenyra. An inveterate plotter, his motives were a mystery.

2\. Tyrion in Seasons 7 and 8 was a travesty. I want to restore him to his glory as the selfish, conniving, shit that he is in the books.


	6. Feasting with Panthers

It was the sweetest day of Daenerys' life. Her coronation had taken place in the morning, in the partially rebuilt Great Sept. Now, in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, she was receiving an oath of homage from Sansa Stark, the first of her tenants-in-chief to swear. She wore a black gown and scarlet cloak, Aegon's iron and ruby crown adorning her brow. Sansa knelt before her placing her hands in Daenerys'. Each woman kept a poker face, as the ceremony took place.

Sansa began:-

_" I, Sansa of House Stark , daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn of House Stark, swear to your Grace, Daenerys of House Targaryen, that from this hour in the future I will be faithful to you with regard to your life, and the members of your body, in good faith and without deception. And I will be faithful to you concerning the castle of Winterfell and the territory that belongs to it within its entire boundaries. And neither that castle nor its territory will I seize from you, not I, nor any man or men, woman or women, acting by my advice or instigation. And I will help you to hold, have and defend against all men and women who might wish to seize or deprive you of all these above mentioned things. And I shall give you wise counsel and advice at all times. And I will give you possession of the Castle of Winterfell, as many times as you demand it of me, either you yourself or by your representative or representatives. And all that I have sworn, I will hold and observe faithfully and without deception, by the Old Gods and the New."_

The Queen replied:-

_" We, Daenerys, by the grace of the Old Gods and the New, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, in the presence of this company, declare that we have received our beloved cousin, Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North, as our liege woman, against every creature, living or dead, for the Castle of Winterfell, and all the lands which her father, Lord Eddard, held from our brother Viserys, and from ourselves. Lady Sansa has sworn to us she will aid us in good faith, as her liege lord, against every man or woman; that she will give us wise counsel and advice at all times, and shall give possession of the Castle of Winterfell as many times as we demand it." _

Daenerys then raised Sansa to her feet, and a squire stepped forward with a reliquary made of platinum, which contained a toe of King Baelor the Blessed. Daenerys took the reliquary, and gave it to Sansa, who thanked her, and passed it to one of her own servants. Another servant then stepped forward with Sansa's gift to the Queen, a wolf pelt fur coat, lined with silk, which the Queen thanked her for in turn. Each woman clasped the other in her arms, and they kissed each other on the mouth. _Has she smeared her lips with poison? _

Daenerys looked into Sansa's cold blue eyes, and realised that she was asking herself exactly the same question. She stifled a desire to laugh. In truth, if one of them fell down dead on the spot, it would be quite obvious what had happened. Sansa was succeeded by Prince Quentyn, Lord Gendry, Lord Tyrion, Lord Edmure, Lord Arryn, Lady Megga Tyrell, and then the lords of the Crownlands. At the conclusion of the ceremony, servants swarmed into the Great Hall, laying trestle tables and chairs, cutlery and silverware, in preparation for the Banquet to follow.

Once the tables were set, the High Septon said grace, and the diners were seated. Daenerys, on the dais, was flanked by Prince Jon on her right, and Lady Sansa on her left. Minstrels played sweet music, from the gallery. The first course was served, a mix of broths, and venison pies, served with a selection of red and white wines. As usual, the Queen ate and drank sparingly, smiling often, but never laughing, as she and Sansa exchanged pleasantries. Then the conversation took a more serious turn.

"Your Grace, several Northern Houses have indicated that they will refuse to implement your land reforms. "

"What are their grounds?"

"I regret to say, they call you a tyrant, who is destroying their Gods' given liberties." _An opinion which you share, perhaps? _

"They said the same of my great-grandfather. They forced him to back down. I have no intention of doing so. Tell me Lady Sansa, what is your opinion?."

"I agree with your proposals. My sister is passionate in support. We have implemented all your laws on our own demesne lands. The problem lies with many our Bannermen. They have suffered greatly in the wars, and fear their livelihoods are at stake."

"And, have not the Smallfolk suffered in the same wars?"

"Of course. Might your Grace be prepared, perhaps to fly to Winterfell, to explain your laws to them?"

Daenerys turned to Sansa, and looked her in the eye. "Lady Sansa, if I may speak frankly, I have no happy memories of my time at Winterfell. Your Bannermen made plain that they viewed me in much the same light as something they would scrape from their boots, even after the sacrifices that my people made. What makes you think I could persuade them now?" She saw Sansa blush. And then.

"Your Grace I have thought long and hard about this. We treated you unjustly. I treated you unjustly. For that, I must apologise." Can I believe a word of it?

"Thank you. I accept your apology. I said things to you that I would wish to take back. I think we should discuss this matter privately, tomorrow" She turned to talk to Jon, for a while.

The next course arrived, a selection of exquisite game birds. She caught an exchange between Sweetrobin, seated on the Reward, and the lord sitting next to him, one of his bannermen. "I love what her Grace has done to this city, " commented the bannerman, obviously drunk. Very …...apocalyptic". Sweetrobin sniggered. Her mood soured, as she looked down at the diners. _Is this how it was for my father? Living in a pit of vipers, always wondering which of them will be first to strike. No wonder he became mad and cruel. I wish my enemies had but one neck, that I could sever it._

Ironically, her father's murderer sat at the table to her left, next to Lady Brienne and his brother. _And yet, he is one of the few people gathered here, who I consider to be honest. He had the courage to look me in the eye, and to tell me why he acted the way that he did, knowing that he could be executed. A far cry from the likes of Varys, or I fear, his brother. Did you play me false Lord Imp? Were you merely an inept strategist, or did you set out to destroy my armies and to sell me to your sister? _

The next course arrived, a selection of roasted meats, pork, venison, beef, kid, together with a roasted swan, delivered to the dais. "I've never eaten a swan, your Grace, " commented Sansa. She leaned over and murmured "It tastes like weasel vomit, Lady Sansa" prompting her to burst out laughing. That was something. She had never shared a joke with Sansa before. She doubted whether they would ever be friends, but at least they could avoid being enemies. Her good humour returned. Although she ate nothing more, she did treat herself to several more goblets of wine. She found herself laughing immoderately, after the final course had been served, rare fruits, wafers, and hippocras, as a poet recited a truly filthy story, called the Miller's Tale, which involved a young student at the Citadel, seducing his landlord's wife, and ending up being branded on the arse, by a rival. Just as funny was to see Sansa blushing furiously as the tale was recited. She rewarded the delighted poet with a diamond ring that was probably worth as much as a fair-sized village. Eventually, it was time to retire. When she rose, she realised she was rather drunk, but Jon discreetly caught her arm to steady her. Fortunately, most of the guests were much drunker. In fact, several of them had passed out. She bade Sansa goodnight, and left for the Maidenvault, with Jon and her bodyguards.

**Notes:**

1\. Daenerys' decree, Titulus Regulus, declares that her brother Viserys was King, following the death of her father, and that she became Queen, following his death. Hence the reference to Eddard Stark holding lands from Viserys. Both she and Sansa gloss over the fact that Ned rebelled against her father.

2\. Sansa's Oath of Homage, and Daenerys' acknowledgment of it are taken from thirteenth century France. Oaths of homage varied considerably, and were often remarkably detailed and specific. The exchange of gifts and the kiss were parts of the ceremony.

3\. The Reward is the table to the right of the dais, a place of high honour, as is the table immediately to the left.

4\. Anyone who wants to know what Daenerys' coronation ceremony would have been like can read Chapter 13 of the Dragon Awakes Part I. I chose not to repeat it here.

5\. I am told that swan is a very disappointing meat.

6\. The Miller's Tale, by Geoffrey Chaucer, is both very filthy and very funny. I studied it for A Level.


	7. Tea with the Queen

The afternoon after the Banquet, Sansa entered the Queen's Solar with some trepidation. The ice between them had thawed somewhat the previous night, but would the Queen have second thoughts, today?

"Do your sisters want me dead Jon? I have to know"; "I have rarely been so frightened as when I stayed at Winterfell;" "It wasn't the dead, I feared, oh no. What I feared more than anything was getting a sword or an arrow in the back." Earlier this morning, Jon had spoken to her quite bluntly about what the Queen had told him, as they lay together in the Maidenvault, after the fall of the city. He had been equally blunt about her decision to reveal the truth about his parentage to Tyrion. "I understand that you were afraid for me, but you should have realised her enemies would move against her, once the secret was out. I was a fool to tell you, and you were a fool to breach a confidence. What you do think would have happened if Varys had succeeded in murdering her? We'd have lost Drogon and her army, and Cersei would have won the war. We'd all be dead or in hiding by now. Thank your stars that the Queen is willing to draw a line under the past. She would be treating you very differently, if I were not in a position to speak up on your behalf." This was a side of Jon which she had never before encountered. Cold, grim, frightening, eyes like chips of grey ice, like one of the old Kings of Winter.

And the truth was, she did feel ashamed. Ashamed that a guest in her family home had feared that she would be murdered there. Her own parents had detested Cersei, but they had never failed to show her every courtesy, while she was their guest. Whereas, she had belittled and sniped at a woman who had put her life on the line to protect them all. Yes, Daenerys had been arrogant and cold, in turn, but, when all was said and done, her army and her dragons had saved her from a terrible fate.

A servant ushered her in to the Queen's presence. She wasn't expecting her first words. "And Nicholas let fly a fart, as loud as though it were a thunder clap, he was near-blinded by the blast, poor chap." Sansa curtseyed, before commenting "The tale made quite an impression on your Grace, I see."

"I've not stopped laughing about it. Forgive me, but I find very few things to laugh at. I savour the chances I get. Tea? ". The servant had left the room, so Daenerys poured for them both. "You're a member of the royal family now. You can call me by my first name, when we're together informally. You were less keen on the Tale, I thought."

"It's not to my taste...Daenerys. I prefer romances, like the tale of Jenny of Oldstones and Prince Duncan."

"It's a lovely story, but sad. Just think, if Duncan had been allowed to be king, I'd probably be a governess to one of his granddaughters, or married to some obscure Lord in the Reach. I might be happier. No responsibilities. But, you have burdens of your own, as you told me last night. You say that your Bannermen reject my reforms. Are there any specific reasons, or is it the principle that they hate?"

"I'm afraid that The North is primitive. I know the First Night is practised in places, despite being outlawed centuries ago. I would not be surprised if people were still sacrificed before weirwoods here and there. We call ourselves lords and ladies, but really, we're tribal chieftains. And a tribal chieftain thinks himself a God and King in his own domain. He resents any external control. "

"That makes sense. The Dornish are just as distinct as your own people, in their way, but I can see that I'm working with the grain of Dornish society, but against the grain of yours. What would you suggest?"

"Fly North. Not just to Winterfell, but to other centres, like White Harbour and Barrowtown. Explain to them why change is needed. Bring Jon if you can spare him. Arya and I will join you. Even if they disagree with you, they'll still be flattered that you met them, and talked to them. It will take a lot of the sting out of your changes. And another thing. Famine is always a danger in the North. Make clear that the North will always be fed, while you are queen.

"I've so much to sort out, in Kings Landing. But... I see the sense in what you are saying. Jon will have to stay here, to rule in my absence. ". She fell silent for a few moments, before remarking, as she stared at Sansa intently, "When I come North, I shall of course, be placing my life in your hands. That is a mark of great trust...or a piece of rank stupidity. How will history judge it, do you think?"

"I took a vow to you, yesterday, Daenerys. Some in the North will hate me for it. They will think me a traitor, who betrayed the memory of her brother and mother. I won't deny to you that I wanted to be a Queen. But, the North has suffered so much that I never want to see my people die in war again. Certainly not for my ambition. In the end, what difference does it make to a crofter or fisherman if I'm called a Warden or a Queen? How will history judge it? I hope history will judge it as the moment when two Houses who had wronged each other greatly learned that they had far more to gain by working together, than by seeking revenge for past wrongs."

"You move me, Sansa, but forgive me for saying this, you took a vow to Jon in your Godswood, not so long ago. Did you keep it?"

"I did not. I was wrong. I thought to protect him, and I almost brought us all to ruin. Believe me, I had no idea what Varys intended."

"I do believe you. You would not be alive, if I didn't." Gods! She's Visenya with the gloves on.

"If I were to betray you, Daenerys, I do not think that Jon, as King, would show me mercy. He is honourable, and hard. He would punish a traitor, as Creggan Stark did. Even a member of his family."

"I believe he would. I shall follow your advice, and fly North. ". She rose, and poured two goblets of wine, from a crystal decanter. "Let us drink to our new friendship."

**Notes:**

1\. Creggan Stark fought for Rhaenyra and Aegon III, during the Dance of the Dragons. That did not stop him from sentencing Aegon II's assassins to death, for treason.

2\. Next chapter, the Jaquerie gets started.


	8. The Worms of the Earth Against the Lions

Hogg nodded with satisfaction, at the sight of Lady Sybell Spicer, chained to the stake. Her tenants had piled a heap of logs around her, and were adding their manorial records and charters, as kindling. Her husband, bailiffs, and reeve were chained to stakes similarly, six of them in total. The manor was ablaze, two hundred yards away. Hundreds of the Smallfolk were cheering and dancing, mocking their masters. And yet, there was order to the proceedings. Kinvara had warned the Smallfolk, upon pain of death, that there was to be no pillaging. Costly furniture, items of gold and silver, even barrels of wine, all of them were being dragged to the bonfires, to be consumed with their owners. "The wages of sin", the Red Priestess had called these items.

Kinvara stepped forward, flanked by a Septon and Septa. "I do not agree with your religion, my lady, " he heard Septon Ball comment. "But, I do agree that justice is being served today". The Septa nodded in agreement. One of the Smallfolk handed a flaming brand to Kinvara, and a kind of sigh ran through the crowd, which then fell silent.

"Good people, " cried Kinvara. "Know that the Lord of Light cherishes you, even though you do not follow him. He cherishes the weak, the humble, the oppressed, and he pulls down the mighty from their seats. The Lord's Anointed, Daenerys Targaryen, freed thousands in the East, from bondage and cruelty. She has come to free you from the same. We do her work, with her blessing, today. This evil woman, her husband, and her minions, have practised abominations and harlotry. Their sins and crimes stink in the eyes of Heaven. I give them to the Lord of Light, an offering in his name. Yet, may these fires purify them of their sins, that eventually, even they may know salvation."

Septon Ball stepped forward. "Today, you witness justice being done on your oppressors, in the name of the rightful Queen, Daenerys Targaryen. May the Father judge these people justly, and the Mother deal with them mercifully." The Septa, Unella, stepped forward to Lady Spicer, and said, "My lady, if you wish to make your confession, now is the time." "Fuck you!" screamed Lady Spicer, and spat at her. Unella went to the other condemned, who mumbled a few prayers. The crowd waited, rapt. Kinvara stepped forward, and applied her brand to Lady Spicer's pyre. The paper went up with a whoosh! and sparks flew up, catching in her hair. Kinvara walked to each pyre, setting light to the paper in each case. Then she started to sing, words of praise to the Lord of Light. It took time for Lady Spicer's pyre to catch light, as there had been rain, and the logs were damp. That was all to the good, thought Hogg, it would make the whole process last longer. After perhaps fifteen minutes, Lady Spicer's pyre began to burn in earnest, and the flames lapped the hem of her dress, which began to blaze. She screamed hideously, a sound barely human, even as her hair caught light. Hogg found the sight highly entertaining. Burnings, quarterings, hangings, they all fascinated him. The woman was now a living torch, the chains attaching her to the stake glowing red hot, even as she struggled to free herself. At last, her screaming died down, even as the others continued to wail piteously.

Hogg had fulfilled his master's wishes. Ball and Unella had been barred from preaching, due to their hatred of the rich and powerful, and their condemnation of the hierarchy of the Faith. Yet, they had a following among the Smallfolk. But, Kinvara had been a real God-send, literally. A few months ago, she had arrived at Lannisport from the East, to minister to the Red God's congregation there. It turned out that many of them thought that Daenerys Targaryen was an ancient hero, reincarnated to bring freedom to the world. That was a load of crap of course. She was a stupid bitch, who'd let a load of his men die, at Kings Landing, but there it was. It had been easy, using Lord Tyrion's coin, to assist the three of them in spreading sedition among the Smallfolk, many of whom had been followers of the High Sparrow, when he had protested against the rich and powerful. And, the Queen's reputation as the Breaker of Chains was grist to the mill. Weapons had been made available too. The Imp really was a cunning bastard! The weapons had been imported from Meereen, to make it look as if the Queen was behind all this. Finally, he and his men had given the Smallfolk some rudimentary military training. It had been easy to pose as old soldiers who'd been cast aside by their masters, who now wanted justice. Lady Sybell and her family were hated by their people. Mean, grasping, treacherous, it had been easy for the Imp to mark them down for destruction. There were other landlords who would get the same treatment. He had over a thousand men under arms, now, and more would join as the violence spread. Eventually, at some point, the Imp would lead out his cavalry and smash the rebels, but not for a while. He needed to so frighten his vassals that they would rally to him for fear of the Smallfolk. And, of course, he needed the Queen to be blamed for the rebellion. Gods! In his mind's eye he imagined her stripped naked, bound to the stake, awaiting the flames, after he'd enjoyed her. He'd make it very slow for her, if ever he got the chance. He needed a woman tonight, after watching this, but he had no shortage of coin for a whore.

A commotion dragged him back out of his reverie. Kinvara again, addressing the people: "Tonight, we have given these sinners to the Lord of Light. Yet, these are small fry. A far greater tyrant rules you! A twisted demon monkey! A vile dwarf who murdered his own father, and who turns his family's home into a brothel! " The crowd began to shout with rage and excitement. Fuck it! This was not how it was meant to go!

"I know him of old. He betrayed our beloved Queen in the East, by selling out to slavers." There were now shouts of anger from the Smallfolk. "He would sell you all into slavery if he could. Will you do the Lord's will? Will you do the Queen's will. Will you purify the land, and consign him to the flames". "Aye!" screamed the crowd as one. Kinvara approached him "Master Hogg, you are skilled at war. We need you now, to lead us against the Imp of Lannister. We can raise the folk of the Westerlands against him, and scour this country clean" Briefly, he thought of making a run for it, but then the answer came to him. Why not? Raise the country against the Imp, and he and his lads could fill their pockets! They could always make a run for it later!

"I'm with you my lady, and my good people. Now and forever! Justice for the Commons. Long live the Queen!"

**Notes:**

1\. During the Peasants' Revolt of 1381, they sacked the Savoy Palace of John of Gaunt. Upon pain of death, all items were to be destroyed. One rioter who tried to steal got thrown into the flames. I imagine Kinvara would be just as austere.

2\. Hogg is unaware that Daenerys is fireproof.


	9. You's Only Supposed to Blow

**You're Only Supposed to Blow the Bloody Doors Off**

_Oh, fuck me, oh fuck me! Where is Jon fucking Snow? Have the Smallfolk cut him to pieces? Surely not, they love him, and the bitch that he fucks. By all the Gods, Hogg, what have you done? No, you fool of a Lannister, what have you done? They hate me. They'll burn me, just as they did Lady Spicer, Gerry Marbrand, Emmon Frey and the others. _

The Queen's Men, as the peasants now called themselves were encamped outside Casterly Rock. Thirty thousand strong, according to His Master of Arms. Tyrion stared down from the windows of his Keep, knocking back another glass of wine. It was the only way he could cope with the horrors of the siege. Ordinarily, this should be no problem. The Rock was one of the strongest castles in the land, and had its own port, so that supplies could be ferried in. But, ironborn reavers, plainly acting in league with the peasants, in hope of plunder, were blockading them. It was easy enough to see their ships, if he looked out in the other direction, towards the Sea. That hellcat, Yara Greyjoy, had promised to prevent her people from reaving when she was in Meereen, but it seemed they couldn't resist the chance to take a swipe at their old enemies, the Lannisters. It was clear too that, whoever was in charge of the besiegers, he knew his business. The fortress was entirely cut off from the land by a ring of trenches, protected by pavises, huge wicker shields, filled with earth. From them, fresh trenches zig-zagged towards the walls, implying that sooner or later, the attackers would attempt to mine them. Three orderly-looking camps had been constructed behind the trenches, Targaryen banners flying above them. The siege had lasted a fortnight. A mob of peasants surely shouldn't have the patience to wait that long? But this was no ordinary mob of peasants.

Curse his father! The man had trained the Smallfolk of the West to fight as soldiers, forging them into a weapon that had brought him one victory after another, fighting in conjunction with his Knights. But they respected his father, and his brother, for that matter. They certainly didn't respect the Demon Monkey of Casterly Rock. He had assumed it would be easy to recruit his father's men, once the uprising began in earnest. It turned out they hated him for murdering Lord Tywin. Half of them had joined the rebels, the other half just sat on their hands, jeering at his recruiting agents. For once, his money had failed to work its magic. He had managed to gather a large number of Knights, gentry, and sellswords, but Lord Crakehall had led them into an ambush at Oxcross, thirty miles from Casterly Rock. Hundreds of them had been cut down like hares, by well-disciplined men, armed with pikes, bill hooks, and longbows. Oxcross Races, men were calling the battle, his army had fled so fast. The survivors had returned to Casterly Rock with their tails between their legs. He had three thousand men left. His father had always said that one man on the walls was worth ten outside them, but their food wouldn't last forever. As soon as the besieging army had arrived, he had sent a raven to Kings Landing, begging for help. Within three days, Prince Jon had responded, by the same means. He said that the Queen was currently in Winterfell with Lady Sansa, having flown there a few days previously. He would not disturb her, but he would ride West with the forces at his command. He was empowered to offer pardons to the rebels, and was sure that he could persuade them to disperse. If necessary, he would fight them, in order to relieve Casterly Rock. That was promising, but in the past eleven days he had heard nothing. It was too much to expect a relieving force to have arrived in that time, but he would have expected another raven, advising him that help was on the way. He'd sent another raven to Tarth, where his brother was currently staying, but he'd had no response.

He was interrupted by his Maester, Morven. "My lord, a raven from Kings Landing." Thank the gods!

"From his highness, Jon, of House Targaryen, to our right trusty and well-beloved friend, Lord Tyrion of House Lannister of Casterly Rock, Greeting! I regret to inform you that I must delay my journey to Casterly Rock. You will no doubt be grieved to learn that her Grace, Daenerys of House Targaryen, has been the victim of a murder attempt at Winterfell, and is considered unlikely to recover. In the circumstances, you will understand that I have no choice but to ride to Winterfell forthwith, in order to apprehend the perpetrator of this crime, and to ensure that justice is executed. Rest assured, I shall assist you as soon as I am able. In the meantime, demonstrate that resourcefulness for which you are famed.

Jon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone."

_Fuck you, Sansa, fuck you! Stupid, fucking selfish bitch. _He had no moral objection to Sansa's murdering the Queen, indeed, would have applauded it in other circumstances, but did she have to do it at just the moment that the Smallfolk of the Westerlands wanted to put him on a bonfire? And "considered unlikely to recover" sounded ominous. It suggested a badly-executed job. The Starks might not be numbered among the very wealthiest lords in the Seven Kingdoms, but surely the stupid sow had enough money to hire a professional to do the job cleanly and well, and above all, to make it look like a fucking accident! For the Gods sake, couldn't she just have put wolfsbane or belladonna in the Queen's wine and then given her a quick cremation? Jon would be King now, and that might give him the chance to return to power, but that would be very cold comfort if the Queen's Men stormed Casterly Rock in the interim, and put his head on a spike. Gods! Once they found out, they'd be in even less of a mood for mercy than they were right now!

"What news, my lord."

"The worst" he replied, and handed him the scroll, which the Maester read grimly. "My lord, if I may speak frankly, your men have been counting on Prince Jon riding to our rescue. Some will be urging you to treat with the rebels."

"Treat with them? They want my fucking head!"

"Some of your men would consider that a fair price for their own survival. A great leader will sacrifice himself, in order to save the lives of his men."

"That is not going to happen, Morven. Banish the thought from your head." No, somehow, he had to reach out to Hogg. At the very least, Hogg should be able to spirit him out the castle, and through enemy lines. The thought of this rabble plundering the castle made him wince, but lost wealth could be recovered. Saving his own skin had to be the priority. "Give me time to think."

As it happened, he was not given that time. He was roused from sleep by a commotion outside his chambers. The door burst open, and his bodyguard fell through, throat slit across. He opened his mouth to shriek, but rough hands had already seized him and gagged him. Someone tied a blindfold round his head, and his hands were bound behind his back. "Move shitface" he heard someone say, before being prodded in his back with a sword. He waddled forward, shivering in his nightshirt, as he was led down stairwells, and through passageways. He realised that he had been led out into the open, and groaned with despair. He knew what was coming. "One Imp, as promised" he heard the same man say. "In return, we go free. With whatever we can take with us from the Castle. "

"As agreed", another man confirmed. "The Lady Kinvara has sworn it, and her word is iron. Well, well, the Demon Monkey himself. Our Lord will be pleased to renew his acquaintance with you. Move it." He was prodded on. It was as much as he could do to avoid wetting himself with fright. He felt grass under his feet, as he stumbled forward. At last, he sensed that he had reached enemy lines. All around him, was the bustle of a besieging army. He felt a carpet underfoot, and his blindfold and gagged were removed. He found himself in the presence of Hogg, and several soldiers, in a rich pavilion, lined with tapestries. A very different Hogg from the last time they had met. The man was dressed from head to foot in a suit of expensive black plate armour, inlaid with rubies in the form of a triple-headed dragon.

"Thank all the Gods, Hogg! " he cried out with relief. "You have to get me out of here." One of the soldiers stepped forward and dealt him a blow that knocked him to the ground. "You address our commander as "M'Lord", Imp".

Hogg stared down at Tyrion, without speaking for several moments. Then he pronounced. "This man is a dangerous and desperate criminal. Keep him under guard, until judgement has been passed. His head will adorn my battle standard"

**Notes:**

The title of the chapter is taken from Michael Caine's famed comment in the Italian Job.


	10. The Hunting Party

Daenerys landed Dragon a short distance from the walls of Winterfell, and dismounted, even as a light snow drifted down. She had flown from Kings Landing, over the course of five days, landing at various settlements along the way that had been warned by Sansa to expect her arrival, Wherever she landed, awed crowds had gathered to see Drogon, and the local lords had entertained her. Only at Barrowtown, in the North, did the population seem sullen, although Lady Dustin was pleasant enough. "I always thought an independent North was a mad idea" she confided over dinner, inevitably a stew, but tasty enough. "Winterfell just doesn't have the power to control dozens of fractious lords. Within ten years, we'd have dissolved into a score of petty kingdoms."

Sansa and Arya greeted her, with an honour guard, and they embraced. That night, they dined in the Great Hall. Daenerys found the experience altogether more congenial than the last time she had been there. "Do you hunt?" asked Sansa at one point.

"Rarely. I don't have the time. My first husband used to hunt lions"

"But you ride?"

"Well enough".

"It's a good way to meet the local gentry. There are stags, boar, and wolves in the Wolfswood. We have a lodge there. It's very comfortable. We could spend a couple of days there. I don't go down there, often enough."

"That's not what I heard" said Arya, stifling a giggle, as Sansa blushed.

"May I share the joke?"

"It's nothing. I apologise" Arya replied.

"Being skilled with one's tongue is nothing to be ashamed of, as your brother will testify", she remarked drily, as Sansa choked on her wine, and Arya cackled. "But, I see that Maester Wolkan's ears are waving on stalks, so let's change the subject. When we last met, you asked me to guarantee the North would be fed. What do you lack? "

"Above all, corn, and of course, fruit, olives, wine, spices, and meat. There is plenty of fish in our rivers. We have kale, winter greens, root vegetables, usually enough to support the population and their livestock. Only the very wealthiest of us would ever kill livestock for meat, though. We grow oats, and there is game of course. But, most people are not far from subsistence. If the crops fail or the livestock sicken, or the fish disappear, the old and the weak are turned out to die."

"A harsh custom. I can see that feeding the North is a priority. But, you yourselves seem to export very little. You have vast pinewoods, furs, Amber, and no doubt, coal and iron ore. Maybe precious metals, too. You could afford all sorts of staples and luxuries from the South, if you traded with them. "

"I want to change that, but as I said, we're primitive. Apart from the Manderlys, the lords regard trade as a dirty word. They'd rather sit in drafty holdfasts, and drink ale, while listening to songs about legendary ancestors, than live in palaces and dine on rare birds. The Manderlys actually could buy and sell our family. White Harbour is small, compared to Southern cities, but it is very beautiful and very wealthy. It's the only place in the North where you have a large class of merchants.

"We'll discuss this further. For now, I must rest." Sansa led her to her chambers, accompanied by a couple of servants, and bade her goodnight. Snow was falling in earnest now, and she thanked the gods that Winterfell was located on hot springs that heated the room, as she drifted off.

Over the coming days, she met a number of Northern lords at Winterfell, explaining why her reforms were necessary, with the support of Sansa and Arya. She had no idea whether she had convinced them, but they had certainly welcomed her pledges to support them, and their people, in the case of famine. At least it was a start.

She rode out of Winterfell, with Sansa, Arya, a variety of notables, and their huntsmen and hounds, on a freezing morning, a fortnight after their arrival. They would hunt through the Wolfswood, and spend two nights at the Wolves Den. Snow lay quite thickly on the ground, and her breath frosted before her. Like all the party, she had taken care to wrap well in furs, and to bring a large flask of spirits. Arya carried a bow, as did several of the party. They would be hunting stags. No archer herself, she would simply ride with them. She had bade farewell to Drogon, who was attached to a large chain in the Bailey of Winterfell, fed an ample supply of goats and sheep. They rode down woodland trails, for several miles, and Daenerys had to admit, the Wolfswood in the snow was beautiful. She had spent the vast majority of her life in hot climates, but there was something wonderfully invigorating about freezing weather, so long as one was well wrapped up. A wild baying broke out from the hounds, as they picked up a scent, and the riders gathered speed as they cantered after them. They rode for several more miles, until the hounds brought the stag to bay, a fine beast, waiting to do battle.

"Your kill, my lady" commented one of the huntsmen, as Arya dismounted. Daenerys watched, as she carefully aimed, and then loosed the bow. The arrow flew straight into the breast of the animal. The stag collapsed, blood running from its nostrils, and rolled over on its side. The huntsman examined the animal, which had died almost instantaneously. "An excellent shot, my lady, straight to the heart." "We'll eat well tonight, " commented Sansa. The huntsman began to skin the animal, preparatory to cutting it into pieces that could be roasted at the hunting lodge. Daenerys was focused on the scene before her, when she felt a savage pain in her shoulder. She slipped forward, crying out, feet sliding out of her stirrups, trying in vain to clutch her horse's main. She fell awkwardly, striking her forehead against a tree stump, and knew no more.

Sansa turned as she heard Daenerys crying out, to see her lying sprawled, face down in the ground, the shaft of an arrow protruding from her shoulder. The Queen was motionless, either dead or unconscious. Subsequently, Maester Wolkan would establish that the arrow was a broadhead, used for hunting, and that Daenerys had fractured her skull when she fell. Sansa and the others leapt down, and rushed to the Queen. "Don't touch her!" screamed Arya. "You don't know what harm you might do, if she's still alive and you move her. Send for Maester Wolkan." "She could suffocate in the snow" said Sansa, "turn her on her side at least." Very gently, Arya turned her on her side, making sure that the arrow was not driven in any further. Two huntsmen galloped back towards Winterfell to fetch the Maester. Arya felt for a pulse, before saying "Still alive, just about" and giving her sister a very hard stare. "I want a word Sansa", and she took her out of earshot of the others. "I can track the assassin with some of the huntsmen. But before I do so, tell it true. Do you want the assassin to be found, and if I do find them, do you want them taken alive? Perhaps they might have a very embarrassing story to tell, if they were put to the question." Sansa felt sick, as the implications of Arya's question sunk in. "Of course I want them found. And yes, take them alive if you can." Arya nodded and walked over to the huntsmen. She selected three of them and several dogs.

Sansa remained with the rest of the party, waiting for Maester Wolkan. She had no idea what aid to render Daenerys, but thought that at least some spirits would help her. As Lord Cerwyn held the Queen, she very gently pushed her flask of spirits into the Queen's mouth and poured. From the sidelong glances some of the party were giving her, she realised that her sister's suspicions were more widely shared. _Be sure your sins will find you out_ . She remembered this line from the Seven Pointed Star. She had made her dislike for the Queen so plain, on her former visit, that it was natural that some people would suspect the worst, on this occasion. Not that they necessarily disapproved. One of the Tallharts whispered to her "You'll find that many of us are with you. Your Grace."

Some hours later, Wolkan rode up with his assistants, and the huntsmen. He leapt down to examine the Queen. Having done so, he instructed his assistants to carry her very gently, to the Wolves Den, which was a couple of miles away. The Queen was then laid on her side, in Sansa's chambers, Sansa watched, as Wolkan patiently cut away at the furs, which were matted with blood, and then the Queen's dress, in order to examine the wound. The arrow had in fact, hardly penetrated her skin, the fur acting almost like armour. It was easy for Wolkan to remove the arrow and dress the wound. Then he laid the Queen on her back, and gently examined her skull. Very carefully, he bandaged her head. Then he turned to the others, and said "I would like a private word with Lady Stark if you please."

Once they had left, he stared directly at her. "Lady Stark. The rules of my Order oblige me to give the best advice I can to the House to which I am sworn. That is so, even if the advice is evil. My advice to you is that you must finish what you have started. They say "when you aim for the King you had better not miss". You have missed, but you have been given a second chance. Once the Queen is dead, your brother will be King. He may be forgiving to you, especially if it looks like an accident. He may show you mercy. You might even take the chance to proclaim yourself Queen in the North. I do not expect Daenerys Targaryen to recover, but if she does, I do not think that she will show you mercy." He departed the room, leaving Sansa alone with the Queen.

Sansa was left reeling. So many people thought her a murderer. Some would approve, others would hate her. But, charges of treason and regicide would inevitably follow, if the Queen lived. Perhaps if she died, but that was less inevitable. A noble who was convicted of treason might expect to be beheaded by an expert headsman. Regicide was a far more heinous crime. Burning alive; being sewn into a sack, and thrown into the sea; being torn apart by wild horses. These were all punishments that she had read about. She felt a sudden wave of pity for the injured woman lying before her. She thought of the oath that she had sworn to her, just a few weeks ago; of the fact that she was a guest in her home. But, the world would condemn her, even if the Queen lived. With the Queen dead, and cremated, she had a chance of coming out of this alive. She picked up a large cushion from a settee, walked to where the Queen lay, and held it above her face, steeling herself to press it down hard.

**Notes:**

1\. With apologies to Scottish readers, the North is based on medieval Scotland, which to a French or English (let alone Italian) noble was a horribly primitive and poor country. Mary Stuart was appalled by Edinburgh, after the luxuries of the French court, where she had grown up. Scotland exploded on to the world scene, as a centre of culture and industry, in the eighteenth century.

2\. Dany enjoys sex and coarse humour in much the same way as any medieval royal did. It was only in Victorian times that royals were expected to be models of decorum.

3\. Hunting. Many modern readers will disapprove of hunting, but it was a hugely popular pastime among medieval royalty and nobility. And as Sansa pointed out, game is an important part of the Northern diet. The Starks would never let the Smallfolk hunt deer or boar, in the Wolfswood, but they would let them hunt lesser game, like rabbits, hares, badgers, and pheasants.


	11. Flight Through the Snow

As soon as he saw the Queen fall from her horse, through the trees, he dropped his bow and fled. No need to see if she lived or died. Either way, he was confident that the Stark bitch would get the blame. But, he had to get away fast. He ignored the branches and twigs that whipped his face and clothes, showering him with snow, as he raced through the woods, and reached the clearing where his groom held his horse. "Fly, Ronnett" he commanded, and vaulted into his saddle. The pair of them galloped away as fast as they could. In this snow, there was no prospect of their covering their tracks. Their only hope was to outrun the pursuit which he knew would follow. He was terrified, triumphant, and exhilarated, all at once. As soon as he had found out that the Queen was coming North, he knew how he would wreak his revenge. _And, what I do is righteous anyway. it is no crime to strike down a tyrant_. The ground flew past him in a white blur, as they rode South along a forest trail. Of course, he had to call a halt to the gallop eventually. After a few miles, he slowed to a fast trot, lest the horses become blown. The Wolfswood was vast, but he knew this part of the forest well enough. He felt a pang of regret, remembering the times that he and Sansa had pleasured one another. On a couple of occasions, he'd even persuaded her to do it out in the woods. He found himself growing hard as he remembered the sight of her pale arse, as he took her against a fir tree, his hand in her mouth to stifle her cries in case anyone heard. But that was past. If the bitch got strung up now, it would be too good for her.

Arya searched the trees from which the arrow had come, diligently. One of the huntsmen cried out, as he spotted the bow on the ground. He brought over the hounds, who sniffed it excitedly. It was easy to follow the trail of the assassin through the snow, and the four of them led their horses through to the clearing. "You don't need woodcraft to see that they rode from here. Two of them, clearly" commented Arya. "Agreed, my lady" replied the huntsman, Fallow. "They can't hide their tracks, now. They'll just try to outrun us. But, we have their tracks, so we don't need to ride hell for leather to catch them. We can collect remounts along the way from your holdfasts. They won't dare go near them. Sooner or later, their horses will tire". For several hours, they trotted fast along the trail, the dogs keeping up with them, barking excitedly from time to time as they caught a scent.

Arya might have enjoyed this ride through the snow if the stakes were not so high. She thought through the events of the day. Despite her earlier suspicions, her sister was no idiot; had she wanted to murder Daenerys, there were any number of methods she could have used that would attract less suspicion; various poisons, for example. Seven hells, she could have approached Arya herself to do the job! She wasn't sure if she would have murdered Daenerys, if Sansa had ordered her to do so, but her sister would surely have broached the subject with her. But, an arrow out of the woods, in front of a hunting party? That seemed designed to cast suspicion on Sansa. Therefore, it was intended to cast such suspicion. There was one young man who had been dismissed from Sansa's service who had every reason to hate both her sister and the Queen. The more she thought, the more certain she grew of the identity of the person they were pursuing.

But none of that would help Sansa. If the assassin was her former lover, it would only help to cast further suspicion on her. She would readily back her sister up, in saying that the relationship had ended, and that the end of the relationship gave the man a motive for seeking revenge. That, and his evident loathing of the Queen's reforms. But, it would still look like a conspiracy. She had never been very close to her sister, before the events of the last few months, but the thought of what might await her was sickening. Whether the Queen lived or died, Sansa would surely stand trial - if she was even granted that mercy, and not just sent to the stake.

They stopped at Templeton, one of the Starks' manors in the forest, to change horses, and had a hurried conversation with the reeve. Yes, he confirmed that two horsemen had ridden past, a couple of hours previously. He had no idea who they were, but if they were to return, he and his men would detain them. The dogs were exhausted, but there were hounds at the manor that they could use. They thanked the man and rode on.

It was approaching dusk, when Beric had to make a decision. He guessed that he had ridden about twenty five miles. The horses could manage another ten to fifteen miles, before he would need to halt. Should he press on, or ride off the trail, hoping that his pursuers would miss them in the darkness. Far off and faint, he heard the sound of excited barking. _Fuck it! Of course they have dogs._

There was no chance that the hounds would lose his scent, unless he found a stream and rode down it. They spurred on harder. The trail led downhill, making it easier for their horses. He knew there was a river at the bottom of hill. They could ride several miles downriver in the darkness, before crossing. His pursuers would be left guessing where they had gone. He had no doubt that the dogs would pick up their trail eventually. but they would have gained several valuable hours. They reached the river. It flowed very sluggishly, and would no doubt freeze before long. Thank the Gods it hadn't frozen over ! It was now night, but not on that account would he treat the pursuit lightly. They turned right, and splashed through the shallows. They slipped and stumbled over small stones, but otherwise made good time. Until his horse went lame, without warning. Fuck it! The animal could barely walk, let alone trot. "I need your assistance Ronnett" he yelled out. His man turned back and rode to help his master, who had dismounted. Ronnett leapt down to help him. "I think my damn horse is lame, Ronnett. Can you examine her? " Ronnett gingerly felt the front right leg of the mare, as Beric stood behind him. "I'm so sorry about this" he said, as he drove his dagger into the back of the groom's neck. He climbed into the man's saddle, leaving him choking and gasping in the shallows. _A good servant, and a pity it had to be done, but good servants can always be replaced_. He rode on.

Arya reached the river, with the huntsmen. They forded it, but it was clear immediately that the dogs had lost the scent. Obviously, Flint would have taken the chance to ride along the river in order to shake off the dogs. She turned back. "Which way would you take? " she asked Fallow. "Left leads up into hilly country, right is the easier ride. I'd go right. "

"Yet, I think the man we are pursuing is familiar with these woods. I believe he is Beric Flint. Perhaps he is counting on us taking the obvious course, and has chosen the opposite route."

"Lady Stark's former …...Squire?"

"The same. I think we need to split up. We need to be careful now. I'll go right, you go left."

She trotted slowly down the river bank, with one of the huntsmen and three dogs. Before long, the dogs started yammering with excitement, worrying something which was stuck in the bank. It was a man's body. She jumped down from her horse to examine him. A large form loomed up out of the gloaming, a horse. "It seems there was a falling out among thieves" commented the huntsman. "We must be careful" commented Arya, " he can't be far now. He's desperate and plainly very ruthless. " They rode on for perhaps another mile. Arya needed all of the skills she had honed in the House of Black and White now. What would she do in the man's situation? Ambush her pursuers, obviously. Suddenly alert, she turned in her saddle, as a hunting spear flashed past her left shoulder, burying itself in her colleague's stomach. The man shrieked as he fell from the saddle, and writhed and flopped on the ground. But the dogs bounded into the darkness, eager to catch their prey. Arya jumped down from the saddle, and tore after them. Appalling sounds had broken out ahead of her, shrieks and snarls. The moon was up now, making it easier to see where she was going. She drew Needle. She found her quarry in a small dell. One of the dogs was crying piteously, its guts hanging out of its stomach, where Flint had stabbed it. But, the other two had got hold of Flint, and were rending and tearing at his face, and stomach, as he screamed in agony. Desperately, she beat at the dogs, but she was no huntswoman. They ignored her shouts as they ripped into the dying man, driven to a frenzy of killing. At last, she manged to get them to stop, but it was plain that Flint would not be coming back to the Wolves Den to answer questions. His lips, nose, eyes and one ear were gone, along with most of his face. Ineffectually, she tried to stop the flow of blood, but he groaned, turned on his side, and she heard his final breath rattle in his throat. Gods, what a mess! She put the dying hound out of its misery, and led the other two back to the river. The huntsman was dead now, but she would have to leave him, while she rode back along the river to find the other two.

At Dusk the following day, the three of them made it back to the Wolves' Den. Flint's body was strapped to the dead huntsman's horse. They had built a cairn over the poor man, to protect him from wild animals, and servants would return to collect his body for burial. She felt shattered, as she entered the Lodge to find Sansa. She found her sister in her chambers. Sansa looked as if she had aged ten years. The Queen's body lay in her bed.

"What news?" she asked.

"The worst. It was Flint. I have his body outside. " Sansa put her head in her hands and started to cry. Arya took her in her arms. She glanced at the bed.

"Is the Queen dead, Sansa?" "

"No. May all the Gods forgive me, I was on the point of suffocating her."

"Why Sansa?" She told Arya what Maester Wolkan had said to her. "I panicked. I actually thought that I could get out of this, by finishing her off and destroying her body."

"Sansa, I know you are innocent. Wolkan gave you very bad advice, but he thought you guilty. You know you can't fight Jon for the North and hope to win. What stopped you in the end?"

"The thought of Mother and Father watching me, knowing that their daughter had murdered her own guest. Knowing that their daughter was worse than Cersei."

"I'm not going to pretend Sansa. You are in very great trouble. But, I can't tell you how relieved I am by what you've just said. Whatever it takes, Sansa, we'll show the world that you are innocent." She hugged her tight as Sansa cried again.


	12. Jon Rides North

_Troubles come not as single spies but in battalions_ mused Jon, as he dined alone in his chambers, in the Maidenvault, lost in thought . First, the news from the West of a massive peasant revolt. While he sympathised with the Smallfolk, he could hardly let them slaughter Tyrion Lannister and the entire nobility of the Westerlands. Worse, that cretin Sweetrobin was back in the capital, with scores of his bannermen, champing at the bit to be given the chance to lead an army against the rebels. He wasn't sure what worried him more. The risk that the idiot would lead his army to disaster, or the fear that he'd win, and carry out a general massacre. No, he would lead an army himself, make plain to the rebels that the Queen's reforms would be implemented in full, that they would be pardoned if they laid down their arms, but on no account could the revolt be allowed to continue. But, then further unrest had spread to the Reach and Crownlands. Fortunately, nothing on the same scale as in the West, but plainly, he and the Queen had raised expectations that might be hard to fulfil. At least he had the Unsullied, Dothraki riders, and several thousand Dornish soldiers to hand. Any revolt in the vicinity of Kings Landing would be easily quelled. It occurred to him it might be turned to advantage. The lords would have to carry through reforms to avoid revolt, but at the same time, he could guarantee them his protection. All this was going through his mind when his steward, Satin, brought him a letter which had arrived by raven from Winterfell. He took it eagerly. He had been pleased to see relations between Daenerys and Sansa improving, during his sister's time here. After they had made love, the night before she left, Daenerys had even told him she was looking forward to the visit North. What he read, from Maester Wolkan, was like a punch to the guts.

_"An attempt was made to murder the Queen during a hunting expedition. She lies unconscious in the Wolves Den. I consider it to be unlikely that she will recover." _Oh Gods, Dany had been right! She had been running before assassins for all of her life, and they had finally outrun her_. _

He had earlier been pondering her suggestion, made the evening before she left, that he marry her, and take a second wife, in order to father heirs. Strange certainly, but Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor provided a sort of precedent. His own father, too. He might be legitimised, but it was hard to see the man's marriage to Lyanna as anything other than bigamous. Ned Stark and others had spoken highly of Rhaegar, but really, what had he been thinking? How could he have offered such an insult to Elia of Dorne, who by all accounts, was blameless? And, would he really have turned his own children, by her, into bastards? Not that it mattered now. He would likely be King, not as consort, but in his own right. The implications of that sank in. There would be those who would think that he and Sansa had planned the Queen's murder, to take Iron Throne. He felt sick. Had Sansa really lured her North, before trying to murder her? Not the Sansa he had once known, who lived in a world of romances, and tried to teach him to dance. But, the Sansa who had survived her marriage to Lord Bolton was a far harder woman. Yet, was she so dead to decency that she would murder a guest under her own roof? Surely not.

He asked Satin to summon Yohn Royce, Grey Worm, and the new Master of Whisperers, Enguerrand Marigny to his chambers. Once they had arrived, he began without preamble:-

"Someone has tried to murder her Grace, at Winterfell, leaving her badly hurt. I must ride to Winterfell immediately. I shall take an escort of cavalry. If we bring remounts, we should be there within a fortnight. I have no idea whether the Queen will still be alive. Lord Royce, Master Marigny, I shall need you to follow me. I do not expect you to ride at my pace, but you will appreciate that this matter has to be fully investigated. And if necessary, a trial will be required. Your investigation must be thorough, and the perpetrator must be brought to justice, regardless of their status, or any relationship that they may have with me."

"Your Highness" commented Marigny. "It is known that Lady Stark bore little love for the Queen. I cast no aspersions, but *if* the evidence were to implicate Lady Stark, how would you want us to proceed."

"I would wish you to treat Lady Stark as you would any other highborn Defendant."

They continued to discuss arrangements for the capital in Jon's absence. Grey Worm would be made acting Hand. He would defend the capital and Crownlands from any threat. Jon instructed him to take Sweetrobin into custody, if the man made any move against the rebels. For the time being, Tyrion would have to take his chances. Jon briefly wrote a letter to Tyrion, and another to Wolkan, before riding out of the Red Keep with two score of knights and as many Dothraki, taking remounts with them.

Riding hard up the Kingsroad, Jon and his men mostly camped in the open. They had brought iron rations, and game was plentiful along the way. It would have been unfair to just descend on some unsuspecting local Lord, and expect him to feed eighty men, and twice as many horses. Where necessary, they bought supplies in markets along the way. The climate worsened noticeably as they rode through the Neck towards Moat Cailin, where there was now a permanent garrison of thirty men. It was snowing hard as they rode up to the stronghold, and into the main courtyard. The Constable, Domeric Glover, greeted him as he dismounted, and invited him into his chambers, for the inevitable ale and Northern stew. He gave him a further letter which had come by Raven from Winterfell, that morning. It was from Sansa, confirming that the Queen was still alive but unconscious. Wolkan had inserted a feeding tube and was giving her water, as well as a combination of egg yolk, honey, and wine; she was being turned regularly to prevent bed sores, and her bedding was changed every day. Jon shared the information with Glover. " Sad news" he commented, " but there'll be those who are pleased. Some of our people hate her. And her soldiers" Isn't that the truth? No act of charity goes unresented, he thought, as he rode away, next morning. His men were in high spirits, after spending the night indoors, for once.

He saw for himself the truth of Glover's words three days later, as they rode through a village close to Castle Cerwyn. The villagers were sullen and hostile, and several spat on the ground as the Dothraki rode past. _Pig ignorance. You wouldn't be alive but for them_ . Jon reflected that some nobles would order the village burnt to the ground, for such behaviour. For the first time, he sympathised with them, but he hoped he would never give way to such anger. The following day, exactly thirteen days after he had set off from Kings Landing, they emerged from the Wolfswood, and he saw the great towers of Winterfell ahead of him. As he dismounted, in the Bailey, he saw the marks of fire, on several of them buildings around him. Arya, greeting him, explained, "Drogon went mad, the day that the Queen was attacked. Fortunately, no one was killed, but he was spitting fire in his fury. In the end, we thought it safer to unchain him, and he flew off. We think he's somewhere in the Wolfswood right now. We've sent out word that no one should approach him."

"And the Queen? " asked Jon.

"She's woken up. But, she's very confused. . "

"Where's Sansa?"

"In her chambers. I know what some people are saying. But, I'm sure she had no part in this" She lowered her voice "Wolkan thought she was guilty. He actually suggested to her that she finished the job he thought she had started. She has told him that his own life depends on the Queen's recovery ."

"I'm relieved to hear that, Arya, but a conspirator may still get cold feet after a murder plot has failed. The Master of Laws and Master of Whisperers are following us. Was the assassin caught?"

"No, I wanted to take him alive, but he was killed. His name was Beric Flint, formerly Sansa's squire. And, also, I must say, her paramour. But, the relationship had ended months ago. I think he wanted revenge."

"That's as may be. But, I can't let this pass."

Arya gave a small sob. And then asked quietly "What would you do, if you found her guilty?"

"I've been asking myself that question, all the way here. I think it's best to cross that bridge if and when we come to it. I'll say this for your comfort. I would never make her suffer. I'll ride on to the Lodge, now, but most of my men will remain here."

Finally, he arrived at the hunting lodge. He entered, full of worry, and was led into her room. Wolkan was present. The Queen was asleep. "I thought she had recovered consciousness? " he said to Wolkan.

"She did, your Highness. But she drifted back to sleep, after we fed her. A normal sleep, I think."

"I understand that you advised my sister to murder the Queen?"

Wolkan looked him in the eye. "Your Highness, I am obliged to give advice which I consider to be in the best interests of the family I serve. As every Maester must. Even if that advice is immoral. But, Lady Stark's orders have been quite clear. I am to use every endeavour to save the Queen's life. My head is forfeit, if I should fail."

"I'll take your head, myself, if the Queen should die."

Wolkan bowed. "I would expect nothing else from the Prince Regent".

"Now, leave us." Wolkan left the room. "

**Notes:**

1\. Enguerrand Marigny was a sinister minister in The Accursed Kings, by Maurice Druon. He seems a good choice as Master of Whisperers.

2\. Kings Landing to Winterfell is about 1,400 miles. Light cavalry with remounts could cover that distance in a fortnight.


	13. Tyrion's Ordeal

Tyrion cursed himself for the thousandth time. Two years ago, he was the proud Hand of the Queen, sailing from Meereen. One year ago, he was the lord of Casterly Rock. Now, what was he? A male whore, sucking cocks as though his life depended on it. Which it did, of course. Straight after Hogg had sentenced him to death, one of his men had spoken up "It's supposed to be good luck to be sucked off by a dwarf. We could keep him alive for that." The men in the tent crowed with laughter. Naturally, the idea had appealed to Hogg's cruelty, who had grinned down at him, before saying "Hear that, Lord Imp. You aren't going to die after all. At least, not so long as you can keep my men happy. Those cocks won't suck themselves." That had been four weeks ago. A month of utter hell, confined to the army's travelling brothel, his mouth getting increasingly salty, and all his own fault. If he hadn't plotted against the Queen, he'd still be living at Casterly Rock, enjoying his wine and whores. Even the other prostitutes despised him, and took pleasure in making his life even more miserable than it would otherwise be. Unlike the others, he wasn't even paid. Just given enough food and water to prevent him from starving. Even that wasn't the limit of his sufferings, however.

"Giddy up" said one of the guards, dragging him to his feet. As usual, Tyrion wore nothing but a loin cloth. The guard deftly bound his wrists together, and looped another rope around them which attached him to the saddle of Hogg's warhorse. Hogg was already seated on it, and laughed to see him. "I thought you needed a bit of exercise, Lord Imp. Let's go for a ride shall we?" He trotted through the army camp as Tyrion stumbled to keep up with him. A soldier with a whip ran beside him, cunningly flicking it at his legs from time to time. "Where there's a whip there's a will, my slug" laughed the man. Hogg spotted a patch of briars, and immediately rode for them, dragging Tyrion behind him. He screamed as they gashed and tore at this skin. All around them, off-duty soldiers laughed to see the fun. A couple of times, Tyrion slipped over, and was dragged along the ground, before recovering. "Time to meet your King" bellowed Hogg, as he rode up to a magnificent cloth of silver pavilion. A man emerged, flanked by guards. He wore black ringmail, and a scarlet cloak. He was strikingly good-looking, being silver-haired, and purple-eyed. Hogg dismounted, and pulled Tyrion to the ground. "Kneel to his Grace, Imp. King Aegon, Sixth of his name, son of Prince Rhaegar himself." Time to grovel Tyrion prostrated himself, and kissed the man's boots." " Is this creature really the Lord of the Westerlands?" Asked the King? " Was, your Grace. Now he's a cocksucker. I think he enjoys it. "

"He may do, but sooner or later, he must be given to the Lord of Light. The Lady Kinvara insists. " _Oh Gods. They're going to burn me alive_. "Of course, your Grace. We'll use charcoal for him. It's slower. No risk of dying from the smoke." Tyrion almost wet himself with fright. "Your Grace, there are matters we must discuss." He handed Tyrion's rope to one of his soldiers, and entered the pavilion.

From simple soldier to Hand of the King! Some of his men had claimed that this man was the long-lost son of Prince Rhaegar, when they found him a fortnight ago. As far as he could tell, he was just a blacksmith, from an obscure town in the Westerlands, who looked like a Valyrian. But, the man was an absolute Godsend. As soon as he had been found, Hogg had been the first to proclaim him King. In turn, he had been made his Hand. Of course, this caused some problems with his army who called themselves the "Queens Men." His suggestion that "King" Aegon would marry Daenerys had soothed their qualms, however. Not that he thought the bitch would accept the man as genuine, let alone marry him. Maybe it didn't matter. The Maester at Casterly Rock had shown him a letter from the Prince Regent, advising that an attempt had been made to murder the Queen at Winterfell and that she was unlikely to recover. Obviously, Lady Stark must have been behind this. Maybe she'd marry "Aegon" in due course. The Maester had given up all sorts of useful information about the Imp's treason. It turned out he'd been in secret communication with Lord Robert Arryn and the Tallharts about fomenting rebellion. Those letters would be his insurance policy, in case fortune turned against him, Of course, once the Maester had given up all the information he had, he'd pulled the man's teeth out and cut the bloody cross in him. Best to tie up every loose end.

"Your Grace. The Westerlands are yours, all save Lannisport. The Queen's commander there refuses to yield. I would place the city under siege."

"How? We are the Queen's Men, we cannot attack her forces.".

"Why would they refuse to open the gates to their lawful King, if they are true to Her Grace? They can only be rebels, in league with the Imp and his foul crew."

"Of course, Hogg, I see. Yes, we shall put Lannisport under siege."

_You'd better see, you twat. Gods, the wealth of Lannisport can be mine!_ He suspected that retribution would come for the rebels eventually. It would be great if his rebellion led to Aegon mounting the Iron Throne, but more likely, in the end, he'd be mounting a scaffold. The important thing was to know when to get out with his plunder. He'd made arrangements with the Ironborn to provide him with an escape route when the time came. He'd live out his days in luxury in one of the Free Cities. They discussed arrangements for the siege for a few minutes more, before Hogg left, to speak to his lieutenants.

Kinvara watched him leave with a sour expression on her face. She had made a bad mistake. Not in rousing the people to rise up against their corrupt masters, but in supporting Hogg's rise to power. The man was a thief, a liar, a rapist, and a murderer. He positively revelled in torture. She had no desire to make her offerings to the Lord of Light suffer unduly. Very much the reverse. Death by fire was the purest death. Sinners were made clean by it, their souls ascending unpolluted to the Lord. When, eventually the Lord called her, she would enter the flames herself. But, Hogg loved to watch men and women burn, and revelled in their sufferings. And forcing Tyrion Lannister to work as a male whore, prior to his execution, was simply monstrous. No, she must act to free him.

Notes:

1\. Sorry Tyrion, but Karma is a bitch. And, I still haven't forgiven your behaviour in Seasons 7 and 8.

2\. it was very common for medieval rebellions to be "discover" long lost claimants to the Throne, like Lambert Simnel, and False Dmitiri.

3\. In the books, it's made clear that burning the sacrifices to the Lord of Light is meant to purify their souls.


	14. Trouble Returns to the East

More than anything, it was the noise of the flies that struck Daario, as he sat on his charger. Clouds of them, buzzing endlessly, as they fastened on the headless corpses of the Wise Masters. The stench of blood wafted through the warm air. There were other predators, vultures, and birds of prey squawking and screeching as they fought over the meat on offer. No doubt, wolves, lynx, dogs would come in the night to join the feast. Four hundred of them, beheaded after Yunkai surrendered. Thousands of people streamed from the gates of the city, thin with starvation, carrying their possessions on handcarts, or their backs, a bony pack animal, here and there among them. His men were distributing supplies of food to keep them alive on their long journey. The free population were heading South, into the city's hinterland. The freed slaves, those who wished, were heading North towards Meereen and freedom. He was struck once again by the stupidity of the slavers. Two years previously, their army and navy had been destroyed by the Queen and her men. The survivors had been allowed to return home, precisely so they could tell their countrymen what would happen if they ever went to war again. But, of course, they had done. A few months after the Queen sailed West, they had thought it safe to renew the war. That fucking Imp! He'd talked the Queen out of burning Yunkai to the ground, as she should have done, and that was the result. Another war. Fortunately, the Yunkish had struck too soon, without the aid of the other Slave powers. He'd crushed them in the field, and placed Yunkai under siege. Four months it had taken, before the city surrendered. He would not make the same mistake as Daenerys. The city's leaders had been executed, and the place would be razed to the ground, once the population had left. Some of his men had argued for the massacre of the entire population, other than the slaves, but he was sure that would appall the Queen. This was the right balance between ruthlessness and mercy.

"There will be many other women" she had told him, when she ended their relationship, before leaving for the West. There hadn't been. Not for want of opportunity for the Viceroy of Meereen, but because there was only one woman that mattered. While he hadn't quite been celibate over the past two years, compared to his life before he met her, he was living like a monk. Much to the amusement of his lieutenants. He had occasionally exchanged letters with Daenerys and Grey Worm; he was glad to learn that she had taken the Iron Throne, horrified by her account of the War against the Dead, and appalled by the losses which she had sustained. Missandei and Jorah in particular. He knew how close the Queen had been to the little scribe, and while he and Jorah had never been the closest of friends, still, he had been a fine soldier, who was devoted to her. The last letter had been an invitation to her coronation, but it was out of the question for him to attend, while the war was under way. Sooner or later, she had written, she would return to Meereen, but she could not guarantee a date. It might be years away. As for the Imp? It beggared belief that a man so inept had been rewarded with Casterly Rock. If one of his own lieutenants had proved so incompetent, he'd have nailed the fucker's head to his battle standard! Could it really have been incompetence, or was the little shit just trying to sell Daenerys out, on behalf of his rotten family?

"My lord, it is time." He turned to see "Pretty" Meris, one of his lieutenants, addressing him from horseback. "The last inhabitants have left the city. "

"Then we must plunder it and fire it. Ensure that the freed slaves are given an escort of soldiers. There will be brigands on the road to Meereen."

He rode into the city with his bodyguards, and the army began to file in after him. As he rode up the main street, towards the Great Pyramid, he had to admit that he was impressed. The city was not as large as Meereen, but it was more beautiful. A shame to destroy it really, but if he left it intact, it would only be a matter of time before the inhabitants made another attempt to attack Meereen. He certainly didn't have the numbers to occupy it, permanently. They had so much, and still they couldn't live in peace with us!

He dismounted at the steps to the Pyramid and entered the atrium. It was wonderful. Great columns of porphyry soured a hundred feet into the air, supporting a ceiling inlaid with mosaics. In the centre of the mosaics was a depiction of the Harpy of Ghis. The atrium was filled with wooden chests. He opened the first, to see it filled with gems. As his men opened the others, it was clear that the defenders had honoured their agreement to leave behind the city's treasury. Already men were carrying chests out of the building, to be loaded onto carts for transport to Meereen. There, the spoils would be divided among his men, according to rank and seniority. No doubt some would disappear on the way, but he had made clear that any soldier caught pilfering would lose both hands. His men were well aware that he carried out such threats.

Later that evening, he was dining with Meris and another lieutenant, Caspario, on a wide verandah overlooking the Sea, outside the chambers of the Magister of the City, whose headless body lay with the others. The treasure had been removed from the atrium below, and even now, his soldiers were filling the lower levels of the pyramid with brushwood and other combustibles. They would be lit the following morning, but he intended to enjoy one night of luxury. They had served for more than a decade together, and chatted about the battles they'd fought in, old friends and enemies, mostly dead now, and above all the Queen.

"We all thought you were going to kill her" remarked Caspario. "Instead, you brought her the heads of your colleagues. I thought you were mad at the time, but none of us would be alive today if we'd fought her. It's a pity our former employers didn't share your good sense", he nodded in the direction where the Wise Masters' bodies lay.

"There's no cure for being twats" he replied. "She spared them three times and still they wanted war."

"They aren't the only ones," commented Meris. "My sources say that Qarth is on the move. If Qarth moves, so will New Ghis and Volantis".

"It never ends" commented Caspario. Then he sighed. "If only we had the Queen, She's worth an army on her own."

"She lost two of her dragons" said Daario, as the other two exclaimed with shock. "Yet, even with just Drogon, she could roast our enemies. But, it could be years before she returns. " Still, it would do no harm to write to her, and let her know what was happening, he thought, as he retired to bed. Mereen and the Seven Kingdoms were simply too much for one woman to rule. Maybe he could persuade her that her lifetime's work lay in the East, after all.

**Notes:**

1\. Daenerys' suggestion to Tyrion that she burn Yunkai to the ground, as the Yunkish were lobbing incendiaries into Meereen, was not unreasonable. The Wise Masters of Yunkai had twice broken treaty obligations to Meereen.


	15. Judgement at Winterfell

"Tonight, I think I die." Jeyne Poole began to cry, as Sansa's words sank home. She was still sobbing as she helped her into a navy velvet gown, with matching stockings and shoes. She then bound up her hair, and covered it with a white mob cap, so as not to impede the headsman, if necessary. Her own brother, Jon, the Prince Regent, she supposed. _What can be going through his mind?_ Still, at least she could be sure that death would be swift and painless at his hands. She shuddered as she thought of what Cersei would have done to her, had she caught her after the death of Joffrey. At the very least, she could have expected the same treatment as the Lace Serpent, whose breasts and woman's parts had been torn away with red hot pincers, before the Mad King burned her. Ready at last, she left her chambers, and Jon's guards led her and Jeyne to the great hall, where judgement would shortly be pronounced.

She thought about her trial as she walked. She could not say that it was unfair. The three judges, Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Cerwyn, and Ser Davos Seaworth, who had accompanied Royce from Kings Landing, could hardly be said to be biased against her. If anything, the reverse. They had given her ample opportunity to speak in her defence, and to question each witness. No, the real problem was Marigny. The man was a demon! On his arrival, with a large party of soldiers, he had immediately begun investigating. After a week of digging, he had satisfied Prince Jon that there was sufficient evidence to try her for regicide and treason. She had been confined to her chambers under guard, and ten days later, her trial had begun, The worst of it was, he sounded so reasonable, as he presented the evidence against her. He had stressed repeatedly that the burden of proof lay with him, not her. It had pained him, he said, that a great lady should have to stand trial in her own home, but justice must be served. And how dreadful did her conduct appear, as he patiently led each witness through their testimony! Whether procured by fear or reward, there had been no shortage of castle servants, and gentry who were prepared to give evidence against her. Step by step, Marigny patiently laid out the record of her enmity towards the Queen on her previous visit. Yes, she had complained about the cost of hosting the Queen's soldiers; yes, she had described the Queen and her dragons as a threat; yes, she had repeatedly denied that the Queen had any right to rule the North; most damning was the account of her conversation with Tyrion Lannister and Missandei, on the night of the battle against the Dead. Two women who worked in the castle kitchens had overheard the discussion, and in particular, the words "You would suffer from divided loyalties" if her former husband were to remarry her. "Mark that well, my lords " Marigny had commented, to the judges. "Out of her own mouth, Lady Stark admits that a man who would marry her must choose between loyalty to her, and loyalty to the Queen's Grace."

Lord Royce had pointed out that these comments had been made prior to Lady Stark swearing allegiance to the Queen. They could not be used to convict her of treason, unless they had been made after she had sworn her oath. Marigny readily conceded the point, but argued they were evidence of a motive to injure the Queen.

Marigny had then continued on to describe how she had violated the oath she took in the Godswood to keep Jon's ancestry a secret. No sooner had this secret been revealed, then the late Lord Varys had attempted to commit treason, going so far as to attempt to poison the Queen. Repeatedly, he put it to her that her intention had been to persuade Varys to move against the Queen. Far from it, she had responded, her aim had been to protect Jon. "You truly believe that Her Grace would be prepared to murder her own nephew, my Lady?", he had snapped back. She had floundered in response, denying that the Queen would do such a thing, but also trying to explain why she was afraid for him. Gods, it sounded lame! Marigny was a master at showing each of her actions and words in the most sinister light. He had conducted a search of her chambers, which had revealed a vial of poison, fortunately mustard root, not the Widow's blood that Varys had attempted to use. That she could explain. She had resolved to take her own life, rather than allow herself to be taken captive ever again, after her experiences with Ramsay Bolton and Cersei. Still, it sounded suspicious that she should have such a thing in her possession.

The Queen herself had witnessed the trial, reclining on a couch, her head still bandaged. She had mostly recovered her memory, but was still prey to blinding headaches on occasion. It was impossible to tell what she thought, as she stared impassively at Sansa and the various witnesses, eyes like chips of purple ice. She was plainly not her father, who would have just tortured a confession out of Sansa, before burning her in wildfire for his own pleasure. _Why couldn't I see it at the time? _

Finally, The Master of Whisperers had outlined her liaison with Beric Flint, the assassin. Their affair had lasted three months. She made no attempt to deny that they had been intimate; she had needed comfort during and after the war against the Dead. She insisted, truly, that the affair had ended before the murder attempt. "Or perhaps, it was convenient to your ladyship to appear to have ended it, before he struck?" he had suggested. At no point had Marigny used the word "whore", but she had little doubt that that was what the judges viewed her as. Delicately, Marigny had hinted that Flint had been killed so as to silence him. She had called Arya to give evidence that she had instructed her to take the man alive, and that she had attempted to do so. Even Bran, usually lost in a world of his own in the Godswood, had been wheeled in, and was able to corroborate Arya's evidence. "Naturally, these witnesses wish to see their sister found Not Guilty" Marigny had commented to the judges. "My lords, please take that into account, when deciding how much weight to place on their testimony". She had considered calling Wolkan, to testify as to the advice he had given her, and then to explain that she had rejected it. The man had saved the Queen's life, and would thus be in no danger. After discussions with Arya, she had decided against. Revealing that she had covered the Queen's face with a pillow, and only refrained from suffocating her at the last moment would not aid her chances of acquittal! But, all things considered, it seemed very likely that she would be found guilty tonight, she thought, as she entered the Great Hall. She would be given a short time in which to pray, and to say goodbye to her siblings and Jeyne, and then the sentence would be carried out.

The judges were seated behind a table at the far end of the Hall. Prince Jon was seated separately from them. She stood before them, Marigny standing to her left. "Master Marigny, Lady Stark, do either of you have any further evidence you wish to present to this Court?" asked Lord Royce. They both answered in the negative. "Then, we shall retire to consider our verdict."

"My lords". Sansa turned to see that the Queen was speaking from her couch, in a low voice, little more than a whisper. "I have something to say. I wish to make it plain to your lordships, that I have no interest in seeing Lady Stark condemned. If you consider that her guilt has been proved, then find her guilty. But, do not hesitate to acquit her, if you consider that Master Marigny has failed to prove his case. There is one point which has not been raised, which I believe to be relevant. The murder attempt was inept. Had Lady Stark wished me dead, there are any number of methods she might have used that would attract less suspicion. The mustard root in her possession, for example, might have been added to my wine, or a poisonous mushroom to my food. Consider whether the murderer wished to frame Lady Stark, before reaching your verdict." She sank back on the couch, exhausted. Sansa had considered raising that point herself, but then, to claim that she would have adopted a less obvious means of assassinating the Queen would only open her up to the allegation that she had considered murdering the Queen after all. Hearing it from the Queen herself was another matter.

"Your Grace, your Highness, " remarked Lord Royce. "We need time to consider the evidence in detail. it would not be fair for us to rush to a verdict this evening. We shall give you our verdict on the morrow."

Sansa felt an irrational degree of relief. Even if her death was only postponed, she would not die tonight after all.

**Notes:**

1\. "Tonight, I think I die" were Princess Elizabeth's words to her ladies as she was led from the Tower to be interviewed by her sister, Queen Mary.

2\. There is no such thing as people receiving legal representation, when being tried for treason in Westeros, but this is as fair a trail as anybody would get.

3\. Lady Darklyn, the "Lace Serpent" was hideously tortured and burned, after her family surrendered to Aerys II, who they had kept captive at Duskendale.


	16. Lady Stark's Fate

"So you think she's innocent?"

"I'm not certain. But, I think it's likely. Your sister isn't an idiot, and only an idiot would try to murder me in front of so many people, and even then, make such a bad job of it. In all likelihood, her lover was motivated by jealousy of her, and hatred for me."

"But, you still intend to punish her. You've discussed the verdict with the judges. They will rule as you wish ?"

"Yes, so long as she commands the military power of the North, she's a threat to me. I want to remove that threat. Do you object?"

"I can't fault your reasoning."

"Good". Jon and Daenerys were drinking wine in her chambers as they waited for the judges to deliver their verdict. Jon felt extremely sorry for what was about to happen to Sansa, but ruling required you to take hard decisions, on occasions. "I'll put Marigny in charge of Winterfell. He's very shrewd. Where did you find him?"

"Megga Tyrell recommended him. He was originally a serjeant at law in Oldtown, who became a discoverer of conspiracies. They called him "the chain" because of the way he linked one suspect to another. He served Megga Tyrell, but I think she was rather afraid of him, and when she knew I wanted a Master of Whisperers, she put him forward. As you saw, he misses very little." There was a knock at the door, and a servant entered. "Your Grace, your Highness, their lordships have returned to the Great Hall to deliver their verdict. Jon and Daenerys rose, left the chamber, accompanied by guards, and descended to the Great Hall.

Sansa's heart was in her mouth, as she stood before the judges, Marigny to her left as before. The Queen's final comment, the previous evening, had given her hope that she might be acquitted. But, was it just a ruse? A way for Daenerys to pretend she was being impartial, when in fact, the outcome had already been determined? The three judges returned, Lord Royce in the middle, flanked by the other two. Royce began:-

"This has been a difficult case for us to determine. Master Marigny has outlined the case for the prosecution succinctly, and cogently. The Defendant has protested her innocence, but has, in our view, often been less than convincing in rebutting the allegations against her. We are of the view that there are grounds to view the Defendant's conduct as having been seditious. Nevertheless, the charges against the Defendant, treason and regicide, are considerably more grave than mere sedition. In the event that the Defendant should be found guilty, then she must be attainted, and sentenced to be burned to ashes, or such other penalty as Her Grace may determine. " Sansa felt sick, as Royce paused.

"Master Marigny has proved to the Court's satisfaction that the Defendant had repeatedly expressed hostility towards the Queen. He has proved that she had ample motive to injure the Queen, and in the Court's view, she did seek to injure the Queen's Grace by revealing the identity of the father of His Highness, Prince Jon. She did so, without caring that this threatened disaster in the fight to overthrow the usurper, Lady Cersei Lannister, not just to the Queen, but also to Prince Jon . And finally, she employed the man, Beric Flint, who attempted to murder the Queen, and was intimate with him over a period of months. Notwithstanding these points, the Court must be satisfied that the Defendant conspired with Flint to murder the Queen in order to find her guilty as charged. We take due note of the points made by her Grace, as well as the evidence given by Lady Arya and Lord Brandon that the Defendant wanted Flint taken alive for questioning.

Master Marigny has not proved, to this Court's satisfaction, that the Defendant conspired with Beric Flint to murder the Queen. We must therefore acquit the Defendant of the charges of regicide and treason." Sansa almost fell to the ground with relief.

"Notwithstanding the acquittal of the Defendant, the Court cannot express too strongly its disapproval of Lady Stark's conduct, both during and after the Queen's original stay at Winterfell . In particular, it is our view that she has demonstrated that she is manifestly unsuited to continue to hold the office of Warden of the North. It is our recommendation that she be removed from this office, and that Winterfell should be placed under the charge of the Crown, and garrisoned by soldiers of the Crown, for such period as the Queen shall determine at her discretion."

"No!" she screamed, "this is unjust! I'm innocent, and yet you're still condemning me, making me a prisoner in my own home!"

"Lady Stark. Allow me to remind you of terms of the Oath of Allegiance which you took to her Grace; "I will give you possession of the Castle of Winterfell, as many times as you demand it of me, either you yourself or by your representative or representatives". All that is expected of you is that you fulfill the terms of your oath. You are no prisoner. You remain Lady of Winterfell, in possession of your lands and incomes. But, you will not command either the garrison of Winterfell or the armies of the North."

Furious, she turned her back on the the judges, and swept out of the Great Hall, followed by Arya, who accompanied her to her chambers. "I was wrong to offer her the hand of friendship, Arya. She's seized the North for herself. I was right to distrust her from the beginning. I'll summon our banners; our vassals will rally to me."

Arya looked at her doubtfully. "You truly think you can defeat Jon, and Royce, and Grey Worm on the battlefield? Because, that's what it will come to. Yes, many of our vassals will rise up in your favour, but you said yourself, they're weathervanes. They'll proclaim you Queen in the North, but the moment you suffer a setback, they'll throw you to the wolves to retain their lands. You are being treated unjustly. But, think what her father would have done? Or Cersei or Joffrey? Even King Robert would have done worse to you. Start a rebellion, and she really will show you no mercy."

"I won the war against Ramsay Bolton. Who's to say I wouldn't win another? She's not well enough to ride her dragon, for the time being"

"Sansa, you rode with the knights of the Vale, but the man who commanded them is sitting downstairs in the Great Hall. And, you never even told Jon they were coming. You got very lucky. This is madness. "

"Tell me, Arya, whose side are you on? Your family's or hers?"

"Yours. And Jon's. And, I'm not letting you throw your life away. Because, that's what you'd be doing. Drink some wine, and calm down." Arya poured for them both. The infuriating thing was that Arya was right. There was no way she could ever hope to mount a successful rebellion, even with the Westerlands up in arms. And, really, it was true, most rulers would have behaved far more harshly towards her. That didn't make the humiliation any easier to bear, though. The more she drank, the more her spirits fell. She remembered her father's murder, in front of her eyes, and the abuse she suffered in the Red Keep; then at the hands of Littlefinger; the horrors of life with Ramsay Bolton, who had raped her so badly she could barely walk, and frequently proclaimed his intention to torture her to death, once she'd borne him a child; the way the lords of the North had snubbed her to proclaim Jon King, only for him to throw his crown away. Arya rose, to go the privy. Sansa remained lost in thought for several minutes. Then, she made her decision. She opened a chest, and removed her vial of mustard root, emptying the contents into her wine. Let her leave this world on her own terms. As she raised the cup to her lips, she felt a massive blow to her head, that knocked her to the floor, spilling the wine.

"I told you" snarled Arya, glaring down at her. "I'm not letting you throw your life away. But, try that again, and I'll chain you up in a cell myself. For your own safety!"


	17. A Flayed Man Does Have Secrets

The Imp was led out in chains, and tied to a wooden frame, by his arms and legs. His tongue and genitals had already been removed. Kinvara had argued for his burning, but Hogg wanted to try something new. The siege of Lannisport had dragged on for three weeks, without result. He needed to cheer the men up. Hundreds of them had turned up to watch the show. King "Aegon" stood beside him, looking on with satisfaction. He had offered the executioner, Hob Butcher, twenty gold dragons if he could remove the condemned man's skin in one piece. He doubted whether that was possible, but quite a few of his men had wagered on the outcome. Butcher wore the leather apron of his trade. He had his knives set out on a trestle table, and was ostentatiously sharpening the smallest on a whetstone. Then he set to work. He made two long cuts with the short knife, vertically, and horizontally, in the man's back. Even without a tongue, his shrieks and moans could be clearly heard. Hogg found himself growing hard as he watched. The executioner then picked up a longer, thinner knife, and set to work cutting the skin and fat away from the red muscle beneath, leaving the flesh hanging from the man's back in two flaps. Then he went to work on his legs and arms, oblivious to the blood pouring from his victim's body. Hogg noticed that the Imp had passed out, and ordered one of his men to throw a bucket of water over him, to bring him back awake. He screamed briefly, before relapsing again into unconsciousness. Butcher was now working on his victim's stomach and chest, deftly separating skin from muscle. He made a few cuts round the shoulder's and head, and then pulled upwards sharply. He had done it! The skin came off in one piece, with the Imp's golden hair attached to the top of it. The crowd gave a roar of applause. "Magnificent work" bellowed Hogg, as he strolled over to Butcher, giving him a purse containing his reward. He prodded the scarlet body. "You know, I think he might still be alive, just about. Imagine waking up to find you've got no skin!" Both men laughed heartily. "You deserve a draft of Arbor gold, come and join me in my tent", as he put his arm round the man's shoulders and walked away with him.

"I think I'm about to be sick," said the soldier to Kinvara as they walked away from the scene, through the camp. He knelt down and heaved his guts. When he had finished, he asked "Who was he?"

"A man even worse than Hogg, if that is possible"

"I thought glamours were a child's tale, like grumpkins and snarks."

"Now you know better, Lord Tyrion. I have a horse waiting for you. If I were you, I would ride as hard and fast as you can for Kings Landing. So long as you wear the ruby I gave you, the glamour will last, but I should advise you to remove it once you leave the Westerlands. You will be safer travelling as Tyrion Lannister than as one of Hogg's soldiers."

"Why did you save me?"

"I hated Hogg's treatment of you. I would gladly have given you to the flames, in honour of the Lord of Light, and for your own salvation, but I draw the line at rape and torture. But, there is another reason. This rebellion is doomed. Hogg, his false king, and his allies, are worse than the lords they overthrew. Retribution is coming. In my fires, I saw that the Queen lives. She is sympathetic to the Smallfolk, but she will show no mercy to Hogg and his ilk. I need you to bargain for the lives of the commons who Hogg has led into evil, for my own life, if needs be. Do we have an agreement?"

"We most certainly do. By the Lord of Light, I swear it!"

"Have a care Lord Tyrion. The Lord will hold you to a promise made in his name."

And if you believe that, then I have Kings Landing to sell you, he thought as he rode away. Oh, he had some some lovely ideas in mind for Hogg, the false King, his foul lieutenants, and yes, for that Red Bitch as well! She had stirred the people against him, got him captured, and had wanted to burn him. She wasn't going to get off scot-free, just because she could see that the rebels were doomed, and feared what was coming. Oh no! He'd make her do exactly what he'd been forced to do these weeks past, before he finally snuffed out her life. Shae, his father, the small folk of the Vale, they could all testify that he lived up to his House's words "A Lannister always pays his debts." It was as well that he'd been forewarned about the Queen. He needed to get to the capital fast, and establish himself as her most loyal subject. Gods! What if his letters to Sweetrobin and the Tallharts fell into her hands? He needed to make contact with them, Sweetrobin especially, and get them to destroy the evidence. Lord Arryn would surely want to destroy the rebels himself. Perhaps he could work on him, get him to lead the Vale knights against them. If they crushed them, they'd be the heroes of the hour. He might even be restored to the Small Council. Yes, he'd received a lucky break, and he'd make the most of it,

After riding for a dozen miles, he reached a country inn, apparently untouched by the war. He had a bag full of silver stags, more than sufficient to purchase board and lodging on the way to the capital. A servant took his horse, and he tipped the man with a stag. That beast's good health mattered a damn sight more than his own just now, given the distance that he still had to travel. He dined off pork chops and Dornish red that evening, the first time he'd eaten well in two months. The only accommodation available was in a garret. He lay on a straw pallet, evidently infested by fleas and other insects. Yet, a feather bed could not have afforded him greater comfort, as he enjoyed his first good night's sleep since he was captured. In the morning, he broke his fast with bread, cheese and ale, before pressing on. As he rode, he saw evidence of the disorder in the countryside. Burnt-out gable ends where once manors had stood; blackened ruins, where once there had been villages. He felt no pity. He had shown pity for the inhabitants of Kings Landing, on the day the city fell, and look where it got him. The Queen had dismissed him as her Hand, and palmed him off with scant reward in return. He, who had travelled across half the world, through appalling dangers, to persuade her to come to the Seven Kingdoms. He'd make sure she got her just desserts as well, when the time came. But, that would have to wait. Revenge, after all was a dish best served cold.


	18. Conversation in the Godswood

_She walked alone walked through a smoking wasteland of charred streets , and burned out buildings. Bodies lay in the roads, turned to charcoal, as ash softly drifted down. Here and there, she saw flames through the smoke, which choked her. Screaming men and women, sightless, flesh hanging off them in strips pointed at her and cursed her. She came to a square, filled with people. They were waiting for her. They had built a pyre for her in the centre. They dragged her over, ignoring her futile struggles and chained her to a stake, above the logs. She knew that this time, she would have no protection from fire. _

_The wood was lit. She knew it had been dampened, so that she should feel the full agony of fire. The crowds roared and sang "Blood on your hands, Dany. Blood on your face. Burn at the stake, Dany. Burn for your crimes!" The flames reached her legs, but rose no higher. She screamed in agony, but no one heard her." _

She was woken by her own cries, soaked in sweat as usual. The same dream, yet again. The same fate that she knew awaited her throughout eternity, in the world to come. Every one of her victims would be waiting for her then, her soul their plaything. She had woken Jon. "That dream?" he asked.

"The same. I dread the future."

"Don't torment yourself. Without you, the Seven Kingdoms would be a graveyard."

"Does that give me the right to burn innocents? I saved millions, so I've earned the right to murder tens of thousands?"

"We've been over this. What you did that day was not murder. You torment yourself with it. You'll always torment yourself with it. And that's a good thing. It means that you'll never be happy taking human life. You told me yourself "rulers must tread dark paths." You tread lighter paths than most. "

"I must go out to the Godswood and think. "

"At this hour? You'll catch your death."

"I'll wrap up." She put on a think woollen jerkin and wool trousers, boots, and over that, a fur hat and coat, and left the room. She wandered through the castle, being saluted by the guards along the way, and entered the main courtyard. Drogon had returned, following her recovery, and slept contentedly, chained to his post.

She reached the Godswood, and pondered the past. She had difficulty understanding the concept of the Old Gods. She had never been attached to any particular religion, believing that all gods were potent in their own way. But, she had always thought of them as powerful entities, governing and interacting with human beings. It seemed that the Northern Gods were not like that at all. They were the souls of dead people, who inhabited the weirwood trees, and looked after their living relatives. If Sansa was to be believed, the living were occasionally sacrificed to them. Not that she was in any position to condemn human sacrifice! _Another sin on my conscience _she thought, as she remembered her first act of dark magic, burning Mirri Maz Duur alive, before stepping into her husband's funeral pyre. She was sure she had encountered the rider god of the Dothraki in the flames, but there were other entities there, as well, she was sure. Entities that might well have a claim on her soul, when she died.

She sensed the presence of another behind her, and turned to see Sansa.

"I can't sleep, your Grace. "

"You're still allowed to call me Daenerys. "

"I suppose I must thank you for your intervention at my trial, Daenerys. Though, I can't say I'm happy with losing my office"

"You were obviously innocent. I would never have let you be condemned."

"But, you were willing to humiliate me."

"I never believed you were a murderer. But, you did fail to protect me. And, the assassin was close to you. I couldn't let that pass. Still, lost honours can be regained. And, you remain in line to inherit the Iron Throne. You might be ruling the Seven Kingdoms one day."

"The last thing I want."

"You're right. I wanted it all my life. Now I hate it. I hate what I've had to do to get it. I hate myself for doing it. "

"My apologies for mentioning King Robert, but he said something very similar to my father. "I was never more alive than when I was fighting for the Iron Throne, but I've never felt more dead than when I won it."

"Robert was a worthless king. My father was an evil king. I'm worse than either of them."

"You aren't. I never thought I'd be defending you, but your intentions are good."

"My intentions mean little and less. It's my actions that count. A few weeks from now, I must lead an army against desperate people who have been driven to rebellion, by their rotten lords. I cannot let them slaughter the entire ruling class of the West, however much they may deserve it. A year ago, I massacred, by a conservative estimate, sixty thousand people at Kings Landing. In all likelihood, a similar number were horribly injured. At Astapor, I thought I had given the people their freedom. Their leaders went mad, and destroyed the inhabitants. I thought I had made peace at Meereen. When I returned there from Vaes Dothrak, I discovered that a desperate war was raging. After winning that war, I destroyed my enemies in the city, convinced that this was the only way that my supporters could be made safe. And yet, I hear fresh rumours of war in the East. I've waded through blood, Sansa, to get where I am today. And, I'll keep wading through blood for the rest of my life. Once you start down that path you can never leave it, however much you may want to. And the worst thing is, there are even times when I enjoy it. There was just a part of me that enjoyed burning my enemies at Kings Landing. That feeling didn't last, but I know it was there."

"I have blood on my hands. You know what happened to my last husband."

"I think the whole world knows that story. If that's the only thing on your conscience, you'll die happy I think."

"That's not the only thing on my conscience. I've ordered more than enough killings and executions. My husband was not the only man who died when we retook Winterfell. Nor did I ever have to kill Lord Baelish. He was a broken man by the end, but I enjoyed seeing him bleeding out his life in the Great Hall."

There was a pregnant silence. Then "I'll be leaving within the week Sansa. In the circumstances, I can hardly thank you for your hospitality. But, thank you for healing me." She saw Sansa start, guiltily.

"What is it?"

"I panicked, when you were struck down. I came very close to doing something very wicked".

Another pause. Then, "Thank you for your candour. I'm glad for both our sakes that you didn't."

The Queen reached out, and held Sansa's hand, as together, they watched the dawn of a new day.


	19. Duel at Lannisport

_And people say the Dothraki are savages_ thought Jaime , as he stared out across no-man's land, to the lines of the besieging army. Reluctantly, his eye was drawn to his brother's hide, with its distinctive tuft of gold hair, stretched out on a frame, in front of the trenches of the besieging army. He'd puked when he found out what they had done. Then he'd wept, uncontrollably. Flaying alive had to be just about the worst way to die. Tyrion had done nothing to merit that! He would give Hogg and his lieutenants an eternity of suffering, when he caught them. Yet, he could see the cunning in the deed. Some of his father's men had deserted to the defenders, once they realised that he was in effective command of the city. But after Tyrion's flaying, the rest knew he'd be honour-bound to have them killed, if they tried to switch sides.

"There are no words" commented Ser Martyn Lannister softly. A Lannister of Lannnisport, he commanded the city's garrison, but was only too happy to defer to a soldier of Jaime's experience. Jaime had ridden for Casterly Rock with a handful of men, as soon as he had received Tyrion's request for help. Unfortunately, it had fallen by the time he got there, so he had ridden for Lannisport, the only stronghold that the rebels had not taken. He had arrived just before the siege started. Brienne remained in Tarth, expecting their child. He turned as Brown Flea climbed up to the parapet to join him. The previous day, he'd arrived by sea with twelve hundred Unsullied, an invaluable reinforcement to the defenders of Lannisport. "Your men are ready, Tribune?" asked Jaime.

Brown Flea saluted before replying "At their posts as ordered, ser." It was clear that the besiegers were readying themselves to assault the walls of the city. Thousands of men had gathered with scaling ladders visible among them. A couple of siege towers were being drawn forward by lines of oxen. And, unless he was mistaken, there was a battering ram, protected by a mobile shelter, ready to be driven forward. Despite the size of the population, swollen by refugees from the countryside, there were ample supplies of food, so there was no risk of their being starved out. Attempts to mine the walls had been frustrated by counter-mines, sunk by the defenders. One thing still puzzled him, however.

"The Ironborn blockaded Casterly Rock. Yet, they made no effort to attack you at sea, nor have they attacked the city's ships?"

"Yara Greyjoy's no fool. Before she left Meereen she made a peace treaty with the Queen. She can get away, just about, with letting her privateers attack Western lords; after all they have feuds going back centuries. But, she'd never let them attack ships or a city bearing the Targaryen sigil. Besides" and he grinned "it was pretty much an open secret that she spent most of the voyage to Dragonstone laying siege to her Grace. Some say she even breached her defences, but that's just hearsay". He and Ser Martyn both laughed.

"Well, the Pirate Queen is notorious. They say she's taken up with a Dornish noblewoman, sent by the Prince to negotiate a trade treaty," commented Ser Martyn.

"Forgive me if I don't share your mirth" commented Jaime. "I'm sorry " replied Brown Flea. "Much more important, what's the state of the siege?"

"The enemy leader is a man named Hogg. He was a commander in the Northern army. He's a monster, you've seen what he did to my brother. Supposedly, they've got the son of Prince Rhaegar with them, but I don't believe that he's genuine; my father sacked Kings Landing, and you know what happened to Rhaegar's children. There are thousands of my father's soldiers among them, who hated my brother. And, then there are the peasants, who were roused to attack their lords. They've been here four weeks, they've got trebuchets and other siege weapons. They've done some damage to the walls and gates, but they've not yet succeeded in making a substantial breach; hence, the siege towers and battering ram. And, there's sickness among them. I've seen them burning bodies on pyres. There are about thirty thousands of them, I believe. We have four thousand men, you've brought another twelve hundred, and the militia of the city are at least some use. Some of them can wield a sword or spear, and the rest can hurl rocks and incendiaries from the walls, bring up supplies, and repair the walls and gates. "

"When I left the capital, Ser Jaime, my commander, Lord Grey Worm was preparing to march West."

"I'm ahead of you there. I've received news by raven that he's on the march. But, he'll be waiting to join up with the Queen and Prince Jon. You know, I think, that an attempt was made to murder the Queen at Winterfell. She was badly injured, but she's recovering."

"Praise the gods! Good luck, Ser" . Brown Flea turned, to walk back to his post. "And you."

The day wore on, gradually getting warmer. Jaime ordered bread and ale to be given to his men as they stood at their posts. The numbers that were gathering to attack steadily swelled. He passed the word for his men to erect pavises, wicker shields, on the battlements. He expected a storm of arrows to precede the charge, but his men would have enough sense to take shelter, behind the crenalations.

The attackers marched forward in ranks, the front rows carrying pavises, the men in the middle ranks bearing ladders. Behind them, archers kept up a steady fire on the defenders on the walls. "Loose" cried Jaime, and his archers aimed a volley at the attackers, downing them here and there, but making little impact over all. More effective were artillery. He heard a distinctive click, whirr, thump! as a ballista was released, the bolt smashing into the advancing ranks. Bolts were released along the wall. The siege towers and battering ram lumbered forward though the advancing lines. As the attackers closed towards the city walls, jets of liquid fire erupted from syphons, turning the enemy into screaming charcoal. But, still the attackers pressed on, drawn by the wealth of the city. The first men reached the base of the walls, throwing up scaling ladders. Jaime saw the defenders hurling rocks onto the men scrambling up, and tipping ladders away from the walls, as men fell shrieking to the ground.

The battering ram! Jaime was confident that his men could hold the walls against the siege towers and the men with ladders, but the main gate was always the weakest part of the defences. He walked briskly to the barbican, to direct the defence there in person. He could see that the shelter protecting the ram was well-built. It was feathered with arrows like a porcupine's quills, but none of them had penetrated the thick hides that protected it. Rocks, propelled from the walls by catapults, merely bounced off the shelter. He suspected the hides had been drenched in vinegar, as not even liquid fire was taking effect. The ram drew ever closer, surrounded by crowds of archers, pouring arrows into the defenders on the walls. Vile as he was, Hogg certainly knew his business. No, it would come to cold steel, as he had always suspected. He had a couple of hundred of his best swordsmen already waiting behind the gate, as he bounded down the steps that led down from the parapet.

He addressed his men. "I don't need to tell you what will happen to this city, if they breach the gate. We take them down now, and leave none alive! No quarter! "

"No quarter !" they roared back. There was a low rumble as the ram struck the gates. He saw the bolt that held them in place tremble, although it held firm. One of his men opened a postern, to the left of the main gate, and Jaime led his men through at a trot.

"Cunt!" screamed an attacker, swinging an axe at his head, which he ducked, before driving his sword through the man's throat with a straight thrust. He ducked out of the way of a spear thrust, and it thumped into the ribs of the man next to him, before he landed a good, hard chop on the helm of the spearman, splitting the man's skull. He pressed on, fighting with as much skill, almost, with his left hand, as he had once fought with his right. As his men pressed on, there was hardly space to swing his sword, or thrust. A great bearded brute drove the rim of his shield into Jaime's helm, making him see stars, and drop his sword, as he fell to the ground. The brute raised the shield, intending to batter him to death, but he had enough strength to force himself to his knees, and draw his dagger, and drive it into the man's groin, making him scream like a stuck pig. All about him, men fought furiously for possession of the ram. The enemy archers had dropped their bows and joined the fight, but more of the city militia were now swarming out to join the fight. They might have no great skill as warriors, but this was more like a fight in a tavern or back alley, as men kicked, gouged, and stabbed furiously.

The attackers parted, as one red-haired giant ran forward roaring, driving a spear at his face. Just in time, Jaime caught it with edge of his blade, but he fell back, still weak from the effects of the blow to his head. He aimed a cut for the man's head, which he deflected with ease, before darting in under Jaime's guard. But, even as he drove for his stomach, he saw the man's head vanish in a spray of blood, as he was taken down by a pole hammer. He thanked his saviour, and they pressed on. They had gained the ram. Militiamen rushed into the shelter with combustibles, which they set alight, burning ram and shelter in moments.

"Back to the city," Jaime cried, now their task was done. They streamed back, pursued fruitlessly by the attackers. Once inside, he sat wearily on a barrel, accepting a draft of ale from one of his men. A messenger reached him from the walls. Both siege towers had been destroyed, and the assault thrown back. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. He'd murdered the Queen's father, yet here he was, fighting rebels on her behalf. _Father, whichever of the Seven Hells you're in now, what would you make of it? War and politics make strange bedfellows after all_

**Notes:**

1\. The Lannisters of Lannisport are a cadet branch of the main Lannister family

2\. A note I intended for the previous chapter. In the books, Dany is very self-critical, and agonises over the morality of her actions. Naturally, D & D removed this aspect of her character. IMHO, a person who worries that she may be evil is unlikely to turn out to be evil.


	20. Retribution and Betrayal

Seated on his horse, Sweetrobin nodded his head, and the six prisoners were hauled into the air, on ropes, slung from the branches of trees. They kicked and pissed themselves, for a time, until the last one was still. He laughed and turned to Tyrion; "You owe me five gold dragons, my Lord. I told you the lightest one would be the last to stop wriggling. Always bet on the lightest. What did he do anyway?"

"The Gods alone know, but I condemned him anyway." He doubted if the boy was aged over ten, but he didn't care. He wanted to make an example of the Western peasants. When he reached the capital, Grey Worm had placed him in command of one of the army's battalions, before they marched West. Like Sweetrobin, he had been given strict instructions that only those insurgents who were guilty of murder were to be executed, and only after a trial. Well, he'd given these six a trial, and he'd found them guilty. Whether they were guilty or not was a matter of complete indifference to him. They thought him a twisted demon monkey anyway, so let them pay the price. He'd send up a report to Grey Worm, claiming they had committed all manner of atrocities.

At Riverrun, they had met the royal party, coming from Winterfell, before marching on to Gold Tooth. The Queen was still too weak to ride Drogon, who flew overhead, but spent most of her time in a fast carriage. Prince Jon had greeted him with genuine warmth.

"Tyrion, I'm delighted to see that you escaped. The loss of Casterly Rock was a blow, but thank the Gods you're safe."

"They took me prisoner. But I escaped. " He certainly wasn't telling Jon that he'd survived by sucking cocks for a month.

"I've heard your brother is at Lannisport. Apparently, he's had a good deal of success, repelling the rebels. I wouldn't be surprised if the rebellion fell apart now."

"I'd happily string them all up. Hogg and Kinvara especially."

"I understand. You've suffered at their hands. But, the Queen intends clemency. The worst offenders have to be executed, naturally, but she's offering an amnesty to any followers who lay down their arms. " _Poor, sweet simple Jon. Do you really think I'm going to forgive these bastards. Or that whore you fuck who threw me off the Small Council_?"

"Your Highness, you are right. I spoke in bitterness."

"Five gold dragons, my lord" Sweetrobin reminded him, dragging him out of his thoughts. "Of course" he handed him the coin. "Perhaps, we should share a flask of arbour gold?" "With pleasure. " They rode over towards Tyrion's pavilion and dismounted. The both handed the reins of their horses to grooms, and entered the pavilion. It was luxurious indeed, as befitted the Lord of Casterly Rock. Myrish carpets and tapestries decorated the floor and the walls. A mahogany table was laden with fine wines and foods. Tyrion dismissed his servant, and poured for both of them.

"I trust that you have been discreet, my friend"

"Of course. The letters have all been burned. My views remain the same, as you might imagine."

"Of course. The whore is to blame for all this trouble. She has raised expectations among the Smallfolk that cannot be fulfilled. And, I do have reason to believe that she was behind the unrest in the Westerlands. She hates the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, because we refuse to kiss her arse. Mark my words, she wants to destroy us all!"

"Yet, you served her, Tyrion. Why was that? "

"Let me be entirely frank with you, Robyn. I served her, because I needed to find a way to return to Westeros and reclaim my birthright. I had been condemned to death, and my sister would have slain me, had she found me. I and the Spider sought her out and served her loyally. She repaid the Spider by burning him alive, and dismissed me from her service. I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have escaped with my life. Now that I know her true nature, I hate her. As I believe do you?"

"And her repulsive nephew. The pair of them openly practise incest, defying the Gods!"

"Well, they are Targaryens. That family wed brother and sister together for centuries. Although, the blood of the dragon flows in your veins too. Have you ever thought that the Crown of the Seven Kingdoms might look well on the head of Robyn Arryn of the Vale. Your father overthrew one Targaryen. Perhaps the son could complete his good work." Sweetrobin looked around nervously.

"Rest assured. We are out of earshot. We are men, Robyn. We should not shrink from doing mens' work. Neither we, nor any other men of quality should be expected to bend the knee to a tyrant. "

"Were the Queen to meet an accident, her nephew would inherit the Iron Throne. Therefore, her nephew must meet an accident as well?"

"You are a clever man, Robyn. Your own cousin, Lady Stark would be next in line, but I doubt the lords of this land would favour a woman. Still, you might wed her, and make a claim through her. She would surely be flattered if you offered her your hand in marriage. "

"Cousin Sansa? She's beautiful, yes, but it would be like fucking a block of ice. "

"I have the advantage of you, there. She had a paramour at Winterfell. The very man who tried to murder the Queen".

"And, she still lives?"

"She was tried and acquitted. But, is in some disgrace. She would have reason to favour your proposal."

"What would you have me do, Tyrion?"

"Be ready to wait on events. Ensure that your bannermen are ready to support your claim. I shall supply the rest. And, I trust that you would require the services of a loyal Hand of the King".

"Consider the bargain struck." Sweetrobin grinned at him, as they shook hands. Tyrion saw that they had finished the wine. "Another flask, perhaps?"

"With pleasure, my Lord Hand."


	21. The Wisdom of the Ancients

Chapter Text

"Is she as beautiful as everyone says?"

"More beautiful, Gwyneth. I spent a lot of time in her company at Meereen, and on the voyage home. There's only one woman who compares. " Yara leaned over to kiss her paramour on the mouth, as they lay in bed together.

"Now I'm intrigued to meet her. " Gwyneth smiled shyly, before asking "So, did romance blossom between the pair of you? I'm not jealous, you know"

"Now, now, Gwyneth, you can't expect me to besmirch the honour of a sister monarch. Whatever took place between us is for her and me to know, and for everybody else to guess. As it happens, I've had a letter from her. She's in the Westerlands, putting down rebels. Read it." She handed her the letter, which Gwyneth read. Her face lit up.

"Can I take part?"

"I've told you before, Gwyneth, but this ceremony is for Ironborn only. You'd have to convert to the Drowned God."

"But I've got some really good ideas. Let me tell you." She explained her plans to Yara, who burst out laughing.

"Alright, just this once. Uncle Aeron won't approve, but I'm the Queen, not him." Gwyneth sighed contentedly, as she curled up in her lover's arms.

Hogg did not want to die. Death is so very final, whereas life is full of possibilities. He cursed himself for the hundredth time. He, who was so cunning, falling into a trap that a child would have avoided. After his attempt to storm Lannisport had failed, his army had begun to melt away. One or two hundred men a day were deserting. He'd tried hanging the deserters, then burning or flaying them, but to no avail. The camp guards had shown ever less enthusiasm for fighting in a doomed cause, and simply deserted with the soldiers. This was the end.

About a fortnight after the defeat, he'd dined with his closest associates in his pavilion. They'd agreed it was time to escape with all the plunder they could. On his advice, they'd been converting all their gold and silver into gemstones, far easier to carry off with them. He, "Aegon", Hob Butcher, and three others, had all ridden out one night, and made for the coast, where they would rendezvous with the pirates. They had all made fortunes, and could look forward to a life of luxury in the free cities. All six of them were now chained up in this stinking hold. That fucking degenerate! Yara Greyjoy had played them false, as he should have known she would! The pirates had welcomed them on board, then surrounded them, disarmed them, and kept them prisoner in the hold. At least he wasn't as bad off as Aegon, though. Several of the Ironborn had taken a fancy to his Valyrian looks, and had used him as a woman during the voyage to Pyke. They had been fed a bare minimum of food and water, during this wretched voyage. The only thing worse than being cooped up in this sewer, stinking of fish, stagnant water, and shit, was what he imagined awaiting him at the journey's end. Never a religious man, he now prayed devoutly to every god he'd ever heard of that they wouldn't hand him over to the Dragon Queen, As it turned out, his prayer was to be answered.

He woke to the sound of footsteps, descending into the hold. The ship was no longer moving. Had it docked? A lamp suddenly flared, revealing a strikingly beautiful brown-haired woman in a cloak, surrounded by the sailors. "Welcome, traitors" said the woman. "My name is Lady Gwyneth Yronwood, daughter of Lord Anders Yyrnwood, Warden of the Stone Way. I intend that you should all find our brief time together interesting and educational. I'd like you to think of me today as...….the Mistress of Ceremonies".

"I think of you as a fucking whore" muttered Hob Butcher, demonstrating the wits that the Gods gave a flea. "Ser Tristifer" she said "Would you be so kind as to remove this gentleman's tongue." "With pleasure ma'am". Two of the sailors forced open the man's mouth, as Ser Tristifer Botley deftly removed the man's tongue with his dirk. Hob Butcher screamed and choked, as Lady Yrnwood stared down at them, impassively. "Would anyone else like to insult me?" she asked. Hogg and the others shook their heads vigorously. She nodded to the sailors, who dragged them all to their feet, and took them up on deck. Above Hogg loomed the great castle of Pyke. It was raining steadily, and a keen wind whipped off the sea. Hogg was led down the gangplank, with the others, on to the dockside. Awaiting them was a welcoming party, if that was the correct term. At its head was a fierce-looking, dark-haired, woman who he guessed was the Pirate Queen, surrounded by her warriors. He was puzzled to see that several of them held dogs on leashes, or carried cockerels in their arms.

Yara Greyjoy stepped forward, as Hogg and the others fell to their knees, moaning, and begging for mercy. She stared down at them. Lady Gwyneth joined her, and then pronounced sentence. "Robin Hogg, false Aegon, and the rest of you. Her Grace, Daenerys Targaryen is the mother of you all. Men who betray their mother, who rise up against her in rebellion, are parricides. The ancients decreed that there was only one punishment suitable for such wretches; that they be denied light, and air, and burial on land and at sea. That they be cast into the sea in a sack. That their companions in death, should be a cockerel, implying ingratitude, and a dog, implying shamelessness. What remarkable wisdom they showed! Do they not seem to have cut the parricides off and separated them from the whole realm of nature, depriving them at a stroke of sky, sun, water and earth – and thus ensuring that they who had killed the woman who gave them life should themselves be denied the elements from which, it is said, all life derives? They did not want their bodies to be exposed to wild animals, in case the animals should turn more savage after coming into contact with such monstrosities. Nor did they want to throw them naked into the sea, for fear that their bodies might pollute that very element by which all other defilements are thought to be purified. In short, there is nothing so cheap, or so commonly available that they allowed parricides to share in it. For what is so free as air to the living, earth to the dead, the sea to those tossed by the waves, or the land to those cast to the shores? Yet these men live, while they can, without being able to draw breath from the open air; they die without earth touching their bones; they are tossed by the waves without ever being cleansed; and in the end they are cast ashore without being granted, even on the rocks, a resting-place in death.

Such is to be your fate. If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them." A loud, moaning, wail was all the response that Hogg could manage. Even worse, he realised that he had just shat himself. Oh Gods, oh Gods, this was worse than anything he could have thought of!

Two sailors picked him up, and dragged to him towards a third, who held open a large leather sack, of the type used to transport corn. Without ceremony they deposited him in it. He screamed, as they placed the dog and cockerel in the sack. He screamed again as they bound the sack up, and the world went dark. The animals were frenzied. The dog bit him, and the cockerel clawed at his face. Bound as he was, he couldn't even fend them off. All he could do was cower away from them. He retched as the animals fouled him, with faeces turned liquid, in their panic. And then the worst. He felt himself carried, before the sack was dumped on a hard surface, presumably the deck of a ship. A few minutes later, he realised that he was being carried again, before being tipped, and then he felt the sack hit the water's surface, before sinking. The animals were lashing out frantically, as water started to seep through the opening. He shrieked and moaned, again and again, but no one heard him as he slowly drowned in the darkness, with his two companions.

**Notes:**

1\. Thanks to Chss who let me use the characters of Yara Greyjoy and Gwyneth Yronwood from No End and No Forgiveness. Lady Gwyneth is the Dornish noblewoman mentioned in Chapter 19

2\. Were Yara and Daenerys lovers on the way back from Meereen? It would be wrong of me to be any less discreet than Yara was.

3\. I rewrote this chapter slightly, to incorporate a splendid quote, about the Punishment of the Sack from Cicero, in Pro Roscio. Roscius was a young man who Cicero defended on a charge of murdering his father


	22. Everywhere She Goes Evil Men Die

"That's pretty gruesome" commented Jon, as he read the letter which Yara Greyjoy had sent to Daenerys.

"I don't think I'd have been quite so brutal, " she replied, "but Yara? Well, she has her own way of doing things. I did ask her to dispose of them, if they sought refuge with her, and I'm not going to complain about the way she chose to dispense justice. By all accounts, they committed the most appalling crimes, burning, flaying, raping. Talking of which, I'm glad for Ser Jaime that his brother lives, after all."

"You seem remarkably forgiving of a man who murdered your father."

"Not too long ago, I'd happily have burned the man alive, and would have thought I was being merciful. But now? In an odd way, I think he's one of the most honourable men in the Seven Kingdoms. How many others would have dared to look me in the eye, and tell me exactly why he acted as he did? And...how can I blame him, for trying to save the lives of innocents? The lives I took."

Jon walked over to the chair that she sat on, and gripped her hard, by her shoulders, staring down at her. "There comes a time when you have to stop blaming yourself. It's not just about you. I would be dead by now, if Cersei had won. So would my brother and sisters. So would your followers. She would be vicious to the Smallfolk. Do you think she cared anything about their lives?"

"You're right. I could have done what Ser Jorah suggested, years ago. Sell the dragon eggs, and live out my days in wealth and comfort. Thousands of lives would have been saved, and hundreds of thousands of people would have continued to live in misery. Doing nothing in the face of injustice is as much a choice, as acting. But, knowing this makes the killing no easier to bear." She shook him off, got up, and walked over to the window, staring out over Lannisport harbour. They were currently residing in the chambers of the commander of the city, Ser Martyn Lannister.

"We have over four thousand rebel prisoners. Tyrion wants to take cruel revenge, as you might imagine. There's no easy way of putting this...but I believe he was used as a whore, while they held him prisoner."

The Queen burst out laughing, and then recovered herself . "Oh, I know it's wrong of me to laugh, but I just can't help it. By all accounts, he turned Casterly Rock into a brothel, when he lived there. Well, there is a certain poetic justice to it."

"I don't think he sees it that way. I think he'd like to give all four thousand of them to Drogon."

"Only the ringleaders are to die. The rest may go free. If the lords of the West had governed justly, none of this would have happened. He can't remain Warden of the West either. He's proved that he's a military incompetent. Well, he proved that when he was giving me military advice against Cersei. " She thought for a moment "Do you think he was playing us false? He got my allies killed, he almost got you killed with his stupid wight hunt. Then he advised us to trust Cersei, and she betrayed us. And there's another thing, something I've not told you before now, but you ought to know. " She turned to face him. "When I received word that you and the others were trapped North of the Wall, he advised me to leave you to your fate."

" Did he now? And, he always comes over as so friendly towards me. Yes, I think he need to watch him carefully. In the meantime," he suddenly swept Daenerys up into his arms, and marched towards the bedchamber, "you'll be spending the rest of the morning on your back. There's more to life than politics. Much more."

In the city's finest tavern, The Golden Lion, Jaime was reunited with brother, a few hours later, over a flagon of Dornish red, and a fine rack of lamb.

"I thought you'd been flayed, brother. I would have taken them apart piece by piece if they'd fallen into my hands. Still, I don't think I could have done better than Yara Greyjoy. It's all round the city what she did to them, when they fell into her hands.

"It is very satisfying. I wish I'd been present. Mind you, I've got some fine ideas for the Red Priestess and the other ringleaders."

"She did save you, Tyrion. You owe her that."

"I owe her nothing. She stirred the people up against me. She wanted to save her own foul skin, that's all. I'm not letting her off one ounce of the retribution that's coming her way."

Jaime frowned. "I understand your feelings. I know how you suffered. But, the Queen won't let you take the revenge you want. I mean no disrespect, but I think she holds you to blame for the rebellion breaking out."

Tyrion leaned forward, looked around, and then lowered his voice. "Jaime, I worry about her state of mind. I fear, I very much fear, that she is her father's daughter. You know the old saying "When a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. " Well, her coin has landed, in the same way that her father's landed. When you came for the coronation, Kings Landing had been cleared. But, I will never forget what I saw the day the city fell. Little children butchered in the streets. Women raped, a dozen times. Half the city ablaze, and all on her orders. Why do you think I was dismissed as Hand? I tried to prevent it from happening. "

"And yet, she pardoned me, and gifted me a manse."

"Of course she did, Jaime, you were a hero of the Battle of Winterfell. She could do no less. But, mark my words. She hasn't forgotten what you did to her father. When the time comes, she will take revenge. She is cruel, yet convinced she is righteous. No one knows her nature better than I do. Think of Astapor. When she murdered the Masters there, who but the Masters could object? When she crucified hundreds of Meereenese nobles, we cheered. After all, they were "evil men." The Dothraki Khals who died at her hands? No doubt they had worse in mind for her. Everywhere she goes, "evil men" die, and we cheer her for it, and she grows more convinced that she is good and right, and that she can liberate the world by killing those whom she deems evil. The peasants who rose up against me. Where do you think they got their weapons from? They are of Meereenese workmanship. She stirred them up against the nobility, because she sees us as bad men. That is why she is so lenient towards them."

Jaime frowned. "You truly believe this?" Tyrion nodded his head vigorously, before continuing.

"Think of your child, Jaime. When it is born, it will have a claim on the Iron Throne. The blood of King Maekar will flow through its veins. Your child will be a danger to her. She destroys all those who are a danger to her."

Jaime frowned. "You know what you have to do, Jaime, to keep your family safe. I would act, but she can scarcely tolerate my presence. But, you, you can get close to her. She trusts you, for the way you defended this city."

"I understand the point which you're making, Tyrion." A conspiratorial glint came into his brother's eye. "If for any reason, Jaime, there were a change of government, I think that Casterly Rock would need a new lord."

The finished their meal, and went their separate ways. Yes, he did understand his brother's point. And, it was quite clear now, what he had to do. He walked up towards the City's citadel, in order to seek out the Queen.

**Notes:**

1\. Brienne is a descendant of King Maekar, through Ser Duncan the Tall and his wife, the sister of Aegon V.

2\. When Tyrion gave his wretched "evil men" speech to Jon in the show, he was trying to save his own foul, treacherous, hide.


	23. Her Satanic Majesty

Jaime passed through the gate of the citadel. What he was about to do made him feel sick. But, it had to be done. Soldiers greeted him, thanking him for his efforts, during the siege. He had done his duty, and been reviled for it, all those years ago, when he slew the Queen's father. He would do his duty again, however painful.

He wearily climbed the staircase leading to the entrance to the Keep, and walked through, immediately encountering Jon Snow.

"Your Highness" he said, bowing, and drawing him to one side. "This is distressing to me. But, I have something to tell you about my brother."

Tyrion was amusing himself in his chambers at the Golden Lion, writing his biography of the Queen; _"Her Satanic Majesty; the Life and Crimes of Daenerys Targaryen' ,_ quaffing wine in order to stimulate his muse. He had depicted her cruelty, her love of torture, her sexual depravity, in clinical detail. He was sure he could find a publisher in Braavos who would guarantee his anonymity. He had planted some useful seeds in his brother's mind, he was sure. He would keep working on Jaime, leaving him no option but to strike down the whore. Hogg had betrayed him, foully. Naturally, he had been delighted when he heard of the man's fate, but Jaime? Jaime was someone he could depend on.

It turned out that he was wrong about that.

He jumped up as he heard a massive blow to the door. A second blow, and it burst open. Armed guards stormed into the room. One pulled his arms behind his back, and forced him to his knees, while another held a knife to his throat. Deftly, the first tied his hands behind his back, while a third pulled a hood down over his head. He felt his legs being tied together, before he was hauled over someone's shoulder, and carried away. He must have been carried for about half an hour, when he was dumped unceremoniously, on to a hard floor. After a few minutes, he felt his bonds being untied, but only so that his clothes could be removed. He was carried again, before being laid on his back, on what felt like a table. His arms and legs were then tied down again. Someone yanked off the hood, and he found he was in a cellar, well-lit by torches. And staring down at him, was the face that haunted his nightmares; the Queen herself.

"You're quite the author aren't you?" She began reading from his text.

_As to her lusts, I have it on good authority that even as a young girl, she delighted to play the harlot to her brother, Viserys, in exile. And, though she was still too young to enjoy intercourse like a woman, yet she would pleasure him with her mouth and fingers, and encourage him to train her in the arts of concubinage. And, having married the Dothraki Khal, Drogo, to obtain an army, the pair continued to indulge their illicit passion, until the proud barbarian, enraged at having been made a cuckold by the brother to his wife, slew him with a pot of molten gold. In turn, she murdered her husband, shortly thereafter." _

"_She is wont to complain to members of her Court that nature has provided her with but three orifices for pleasure, and to wish that she had a further opening between her breasts, that she might contrive a novel form of intercourse there. Many a time, she will summon palace guards, Gold Cloaks, even servants, to her bedchamber, young men at the peak of their powers and with a passion for fornication. And there she will let them take her, sometimes two or three at a time, as though she were a common strumpet, while the ladies of the court watch, calling out encouragement, and touching themselves and each other in lewd and lascivious ways. " _

He gave a little squeal of fear. "You have nothing to say? None of your amusing quips and japes? Well, it seems I shall have to loosen your tongue." She nodded to one of her guards, who opened up a case, containing an assortment of blades, needles, pincers, and little bottles of oil and acid. "Where would you like us to begin? Eyes, nails, nostrils, testicles? Not teeth of course. I want you to confess. "

"Your Grace, I confess that I wrote a scurrilous story. But, it was for my own gratification. I collect obscene publications, for my own amusement. Sometimes, I write them. "

"That is not why you are here. I care not a fig for anything you say or write about me. I do care very much that you sought to persuade your brother to murder me."

"Never, your Grace! I expressed some concerns about the future to him, but never in a million years did I urge him to commit such a foul crime. As the Gods are my witness, I would never do such a thing! "

"Not in so many words, but he has informed me and Prince Jon what you said to him. I believe that your implication was entirely clear. There is, however, more. "

She nodded again, to one of the guards, who opened the door. In stepped a woman in a red cloak. "Lady Kinvara. I believe you and she are acquainted. Indeed, I gather she saved your life, a fact which you seem to have overlooked in your zeal to punish the rebels. Regrettably, I was required to sentence her, and some other ringleaders of the rebellion to death, even though I believe they had every reason to rebel against your rotten rule. She does, however, have important information, relating to your conduct. In return for this information, I have agreed to grant her a reprieve. My lady, pass me the letters."

Kinvara handed him the letters. "She found these in Hogg's pavilion, after he had fled. I assume he left them, because he thought you dead, and they were of no use. But what a tale they tell. " She held one letter in front of him. "I think you will recognise the signet of Lord Robyn Arryn of the Vale. It appears that he agrees with you, that the time has come to strike me down. He even approves your conduct, in inciting the rebels to burn Lady Spicer and her family. He is now himself under arrest. He is "singing like a canary" as the Smallfolk like to put it. There is more in similar vein from the Tallharts, and other disaffected lords. You have been remarkably careless, in failing to destroy documents of this nature. Have you anything to say in your defence?"

"I am the Lord of the Westerlands. I am entitled to a trial."

"You are the lord of nothing. I have attainted you, and stripped you of your titles. If it's any consolation to you, I shall make your brother Lord of Casterly Rock. I believe you promised him that position in the event of "a change of government." To think, I was stupid enough to make you my Hand in Meereen! Farewell, Tyrion Lannister. Our time together is at an end. " She walked towards the opened door, Kinvara leaving with her. She turned in the doorway, and addressed the guard holding the case of instruments. "See to it that he confesses. How you achieve a confession, I leave to your discretion."

The door slammed shut behind her.

**Notes:**

1\. The title is drawn from D & D's laughable script for Episode 6 of Season 8. By this point, they were just demob happy.

2\. The letters that sealed Tyrion's fate are the ones that were referred to in Chapter 13.


	24. Farewell

A few weeks later, Dany rode through the main entrance to the Lion Gate in the drizzle. She peered up to look at what was left of the heads of Tyrion Lannister and Robyn Arryn, spiked side by side above it. The heads had been dipped in pitch, to preserve them, although the lips, noses, and eyes were now gone. Tyrion still had his mane of golden hair, making him easily recognisable, still. The hair was beaded with rain and water from the Blackwater, carried in the wind. The mouth curled upwards, as though he was still mocking at her.

_Well, Lord Imp. You thought it amusing to brand me an abomination born of incest, a whore, a degenerate, and to plot my death. But, somehow, I doubt if you're laughing now, wherever you may be. Had you only had patience, and wit, you might even have returned to power. You would be thrilled by my news today." _

She rode slowly through the city's streets, surrounded by her knights, towards the Red Keep. Towards the last Small Council meeting she would ever attend. She dismounted in the bailey of the Red Keep, and wearily climbed the Serpentine Steps,

Another day, another murder plot. This time, a cook had been suborned to add Tears of Lys to her food. It had cost the life of one of her tasters. _It never ends._ It only fortified her resolve. On her return to the Crownlands, she had received news from Daario, of war returning to the East. Qarth and Volantis were on the move, once again. She would destroy them, once and for all. She entered the Small Council chamber. Already present were Jon, Ser Davos, Lord Royce, Sarella Sand, Grey Worm, the new Grand Maester, and High Septon, and the Master of Coin, Ser Leyton Hightower. Enguerrand Marigny still dwelt at Winterfell, but his deputy, Forbuoys, was present.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, my lords and lady" she began.

"A Queen is never late" replied Ser Leyton. "We merely anticipated your arrival." She smiled at the sycophancy.

"Your Grace, " he continued "May we address the shortfall in customs dues. It has serious implications for the Royal finances."

"It's not my problem Ser Leyton, " she responded. Silence. She savoured the moment. Only Grey Worm knew what was coming. She opened a document case, and withdrew copies of her latest edict. She handed them to a servant, who passed them around the table.

Jon was the first to respond, white-faced with shock. "An Instrument of Abdication?"

"Congratulations. Your Grace. The Seven Kingdoms are yours." The rest of the council were in uproar. Jon turned to them "Please. Allow Her Grace and myself a few moments together." They filed out.

"Is this a joke on your part, Daenerys?"

"I've never been more serious".

"But, you fought the War against the Dead, You fought a war against Cersei, and now you're just throwing it away. Why?"

"Of all people, Sansa knows the answer. I so wanted the Iron Throne. And then, I realised it was a burden, not a prize. I told your sister, I hate what I've done to win it. I hate myself for doing it. But, I'd force myself to do my duty, if I had to. However, the plain truth of the matter is, this is not my country, and I'm not wanted here. I discovered another murder plot this morning. To most of your countrymen, I'll always be "a foreign whore who doesn't know her place."

"They don't think that. Never think that Cersei spoke for all of us."

"And, the lords of the Reach, who deserted Olenna Tyrell, in favour of the woman who murdered their Queen and their liege lord? Don't pretend that I'm loved here. But, that's not the decisive factor in the end. I thought I'd brought freedom to the East, but my work there has only just begun. You can't uproot slavery in five years. I have to return there. I'll be spending the rest of my life in Meereen. I know you well enough, Jon, to know that you can govern the Seven Kingdoms just as well as I can. But, there's no one else who can keep my people in the East free. War is returning there. I had thought that a country that was free could co-exist with states that practised slavery. I see now that is impossible. If a country can survive without slaves, all slaves will seek their freedom. The Old Blood and the Pureborn know this. That's why they must destroy my Eastern kingdom."

"But, you could have accomplished so much here."

"I could, but it's up to you to accomplish it. I'm giving you the Iron Throne, but there are conditions."

"Which are?"

"You continue our reforms, regardless of the wishes of the lords. You won't have Drogon to back you up, but the lords of the West and the Vale are cowed. The Dornish will back you. Your sisters and Lord Tully are loyal to you. I've spoken to Grey Worm. He'll remain here with a couple of thousand of his men for three years, and serve as your Master of War. With him, and Lord Royce, and your own military reputation, I don't think you'll find it hard to establish your rule. The second condition is that you find a wife, quickly."

"I suppose your offer no longer stands?"

"I wish it did. But, it turns out that duty is the death of love. The third condition is that your second child is sent to foster with me in Meereen. I shall adopt them as my own child, and they will rule after me. My kingdom will only endure if there is an heir, whose claim is beyond dispute. Last, but not least, both our kingdoms will form a permanent military and economic alliance. A resident of one will be free to live and work in the other, at will. An attack on one country will be considered an attack on the other. When Grey Worm returns East, in three years, I will hold you to this, if I am still at war. "

"I agree. I can't say I'm happy. In fact, I'm heartbroken. But, if this is what you want, then yes, I'll step up."

"It's not what I want. It's what must be. Once, I thought I could rule half the world. Now, I see it for the foolish dream that it is. "

Jon came round the table, and they kissed for a long time. She noticed tears on his cheek, and found that she was crying too. They drew apart. "I won't stay for your coronation, Jon. It would be embarrassing for both of us, and I'm urgently needed in Meereen."

Jon watched, still numb, as she opened the door to the Council Chamber, and stepped out of his life.

**Notes:**

1\. The end of this chapter is deliberately abrupt. Dany thinks it will be easier for both Jon and her to move on if she just steps out of his life, and leaves for Meereen quickly. If she hung around for several months, until Jon is crowned, her resolve would falter.

2\. The Old Blood are the slaver elite of Volantis, as the Pureborn are of Qarth.


	25. Unbowed Unbroken Unbent

Rhaella circled ever downwards as she descended towards Meereen. The sea sparkled in the winter Sun. She landed in Danzak's Pit, now used for plays , spectacles, and concerts, rather than for butchery. The tiers of the amphitheatre were crowded with Meereenese, and a handful of foreign dignitaries. As Drogon landed, the crowd rose to their feet, applauding her. She unlocked her chains, and dismounted, standing before them in black ringmail and scarlet cloak, as her mother had done in the past.

She was greeted by her husband and Prince Consort, Trystane Martell. The pair of them walked towards her adoptive mother's funeral pyre. _The White Flame Who Dances on the Graves of Her Enemies_ her soldiers had called her, with pride. Living up to her record of success would be difficult indeed. For a quarter of a century, she had ruled Meereen wisely and well. But, at the same time, she had been a terror to her enemies. After years of military defeat at her hands, Volantis had erupted in bloody revolution, during which the Old Blood had perished almost to a man. After that, it was obvious that the writing was on the wall for slavery, even if it lingered here and there in the East. Qarth and New Ghis had sued for peace, and had been allowed five years to phase out the practice. Better to emancipate slaves from a position of strength, than be left fighting Daenerys from without, and most of their populations from within. Even the surviving nobles of Meereen had eventually come to accept her rule. Volantis showed them there worse fates than being ruled by the Dragon Queen. Much worse.

Old Reznak, her mother's Chamberlain, handed her a burning brand. Her mother's body lay atop the pyre. She, who had defeated every enemy in her life, had proved unable in the end to defeat the disease the healers call the Crab. Rhaella, her husband, her father Jon, and Grey Worm were the only ones to know that her mother had taken her own life, with sweetsleep in her wine, rather than spend months in agony, wasting away as the disease spread through her body. She put the brand to the kindling in the pyre, and the fire took hold rapidly. She stared fascinated at the flames, orange, gold, white, and suddenly gasped with surprise. She fancied she saw a rider in the blaze, a tall bronzed man with a long braid of hair, and bells in his hair, dismounting and taking her mother's body in his arms. Then, the vision was gone. Had it been the Rider God of the Dothraki? Or her first husband, returned to carry her to the Night Lands? Or had she simply imagined it?

"The Dragon Queen is dead. Long live the Dragon Queen" cried Reznak, his voice still carrying strongly. The crowd erupted again. The Green Grace stepped forward and placed her mother's iron and ruby crown on her head. Her father stepped forward to congratulate her, grey-haired, and even thinner than she remembered. He had aged greatly since his last visit to Meereen, a decade previously. She wondered if this would be the last time they met. When it was clear that her mother's illness was terminal, they had sent messages to him, in Kings Landing, by glass candle, and he had taken his fastest ship to Meereen, reaching the city a fortnight ago. "The world's only dragon lord" he smiled at her. "I was one, briefly. Drogon will even outlive you, and one of your children will ride him in turn. " They embraced to more applause. As they watched the fire consume the pyre, she finally asked him

"Was she truly the Prince Who was Promised?"

"All that and more. She saved the world from the Dead, and freed millions from bondage. A frightened girl, who had been tormented by a worthless brother, and sent to die in the Dothraki Sea. And, she became the greatest leader the world has seen in centuries. What did you make of her?"

"Honestly, I was terrified of her when you sent me here. She seemed like a force of nature. I don't think I can say I was ever comfortable with her. But, I did come to love her. It's sad she could never have a true daughter of her own"

"You were all the daughter she ever needed. You don't know how much it meant to her to learn that she was not the last of her line. You will reign in the East, and your brother will reign in Kings Landing. Our enemies thought they could destroy the Targaryens, but here we are, stronger than ever."

"Unbowed, unbroken, unbent".

"Those aren't our House words. They're your husband's."

"I know, but they fit, don't they?"

"They fit perfectly." Arms linked with those of her father and husband, she walked towards the Royal Enclosure.

**Notes:**

1\. The White Flame who Dances on the Graves of Her Enemies is taken from the description of Emhyr var Emreis, in the Witcher series.

2\. I'd anticipate the relationship between the Targaryens of Meereen and the Targaryens of Kings Landing as being similar to that of the Spanish and Austrian Habsburgs.


End file.
